Ant, Boot

It had been quite some time since Ozorith had involved himself into the life of his paladin. Not that he wasn’t keeping the occasional eye on her, of course, but one did not simply enter Kingdom Darkness as a mortal and return unscatched. Serilda had performed admirably, or so he’d learned over the days after their return to the mortal world. It was impossible to get the full details as Kingdom Darkness was one of the few domains he hadn’t successfully managed to plant agents in. It was simply too toxic there, and he didn’t have the resources to keep too many of his followers there safely for long enough to do any good. Most of what he had for combatting the realm he’d given to Serilda.

But even with a realm that was generally closed off from the rest of the universe, word still managed to travel. It hadn’t taken too long at all for Faera to reach out to him directly, which proved to be a tickling encounter. While she hadn’t been overly incensed with him, there was no mistaking just how furious she was that he’d managed to foil her plans to finally get her hands on Mythal. The goddess of darkness had asked quite a number of questions regarding Serilda, which Ozorith deflected for the most part, electing instead to tease her with half truths and leading statements that might continue to pique her interest and curiosity but did next to nothing by way of giving her actual answers. He knew Faera had now set her sights on eliminating the mortal noblewoman, but Ozorith wasn’t anywhere near ready to lose his new vassal and as such was more than happy to lead the goddess in circles.

And frankly ever since then, he’d had a great deal of other things come up that needed addressing. Like Kingdom Darkness, Glacier Sanctum moved at a speed of time that wasn’t in sync with that of the mortal world. A few hours within his realm was the equivalent of several days for those on Earthland. Since his machinations had called him away for several weeks with only the occasional chance to check in on how things were going, it had been months, if not close to a year, since he had last spoken with Serilda. That wasn’t much of a problem, of course -- he’d told her that for the most part her life would remain unchanged in working with him.

But frankly, she didn’t exactly need the encouragement. As he’d foreseen, Serilda was a woman of such staunch conviction that in that time she had moved up several places in their world and named herself one of the most powerful people of all the countries that made up the continent they called home. The path that had led her there had been full of confrontation. He knew because every time she loosed her anger on the world around her, he had felt his own power magnify and expand. Yes, he had certainly made the right choice and played the game perfectly so as to ensure that Serilda was pulled into his collection.

It was time for him to reveal himself once more, however. If he waited too long she would forget her respect and oath to him, and while a part of him was amused by that he did not desire at present to force her to submit. Willing servants were always more efficient. Before he went to her, however, he had decided to take it upon him to greet her other half first. As luck would have it, Mythal was home without Serilda around the time that Ozorith finally took the efforts to reach out. The demon lord listened in on the conversation that the Darkness King was having with some small demi-god whom Ozorith didn’t recognize nor care about -- though the comments about the little god’s liaison with Ruzatz’s wife was of some amusement.

They would hear his light chuckle first, the sound echoing within the room before Ozorith materialized himself once again on Mythal’s couch, the same place he’d been before. “Well, it’s not like the woman is exactly difficult to come by,” he commented with amusement. “She’ll sleep with anything that moves, generally. There is a reason my lustful counterpart was drawn to her.” Ozorith was garbed in a mostly white outfit trimmed in black, with a purple sash around his waist. He had long brown hair that was tied behind his head in a loose ponytail, a single strand free from it to dangle in front of his face. A pair of dark brown eyes regarded Mythal with a considering look, taking the man in and measuring him up in his mind. He barely paid any attention at all to Susano, nor to the massive wolf that slumbered outside in the sun.

There was an easy smile on his face, though there was no mistaking the air of superiority about the man. “I do hope you can forgive my sudden appearance. We are long since past due to become acquainted with one another, and I have been very interested in meeting the man my staunch and stubborn vassal was willing to throw her convictions away over. You have my sincerest gratitude for your aid, however unwitting, in securing me the strongest Sword I’ve ever had thus far…”

“...Darkness King.”

He had to admit, the mortal’s reaction time was impeccable. Ozorith had barely finished laughing before Mythal was on his feet, an impressively large sword racing down to his hand from the upstairs to arc around and stop mere inches from the Prime Sin’s throat. While the lord of wrath didn’t react to move out of the way or even raise a brow in surprise or amusement, his smirk did deepen just a hair. He made his comment about Agatha, drawing an angered noise from the demi-god though as before Ozorith continued to more or less ignore the short man, not deeming him worth his attention -- though he did glance idly to the side when something started pushing against the door to the backyard, finding Gren. “My, he’s certainly grown, hasn’t he?” was his only comment before turning back to Mythal.

There was a brief moment of tense silence while the darkness slayer struggled to figure out what he was going to do about the home invasion. Ozorith waited patiently, neither mocking nor baiting him to come to a decision any sooner than Mythal pleased. His reward was a bit of sass as Faera’s vessel commented on how he’d always pictured Ozorith to be more intimidating than he was. The statement drew a low chuckle from the demon, who unsurprisingly seemed to enjoy the mortal’s wit.

Mythal sheathed his sword, drawing distress from his counterpart who seemed worried that the Darkness King didn’t know who had joined them. But Mythal knew exactly who Ozorith was and said as much, stating that he’d been waiting for the demon lord to rear his head. Truthfully he had just expected the Prime to not show up in the same place twice, evening going so far as to try and insult him again by commenting on his originality. “What can I say? This place has good memories for me,” Was the only idle interjection, smooth and even through his unbreaking smirk. The slayer went on to explain to Susano that while it would bring him no greater joy than to devoid Ozorith of his life, that wasn’t going to happen without risking the lives of a lot more innocent people in the area. That, and he assumed that if Ozorith was here for more than just a social visit he probably would have done something about it already.

Taking the jabs with grace, the demon lord casually examined a fingernail. “Well, I’d say my ego is well deserved. I do quite a lot of work to get what I want, and from where I’m sitting that has served even you well in the past, has it not?” His eyes flicked back up to Mythal with a knowing look. Bark as much as he wanted, the Rune Knight couldn’t deny that if it hadn’t been for Ozorith intervention in Serilda’s life, Mythal would have died a while ago -- or worse.

The slayer waved his hound down, encouraging the beast to relax. Gren complied though not without keeping near the door and growling his displeasure, the glass from the door rumbling slightly from the vibration. Mythal took up a seat across from Ozorith, looking for all the world like he was entirely disinterested and unimpressed by the demon’s presence. He approached him with faux camaraderie, speaking as though they were old friends even as he inquired as to Ozorith’s presence and wondered if he was here to throw his weight around or mark Serilda as his territory. Apparently, such behaviors would not be well received.

He chuckled again. “As terrifying as that sounds,” the demon lord said, his tone very much inferring that he didn’t consider Mythal even remotely a threat, “You are making a great deal of assumptions about me. I have no need, nor desire, to prove myself against a mortal -- even one that was intended to be the vessel of an insane goddess. Similarly, there is no need for me to lay any sort of claim over Serilda. She came to me of her own accord and agreed to work for me with the full understanding of what it would mean to have me as a constant in her life.”

“And anyway, I’m sure she already told you that I took no ownership of her soul or anything dramatic like that. Serilda is more or less free to live her life as she pleases, with her only obligations to me being to enforce her judgement when she deems it necessary and to assist me here and there with more… deific related matters. And I must say she has been doing quite a fine job. Permanently disfigured one of Faera’s Trumpets and decimating his army within the goddess’ own realm; leading the charge against that invasion of your council to place herself in charge of an entire country’s first and last line of defense; being set above nearly all of her peers to mark her as one of the most prominent and dangerous mages between all the countries on this continent… No, it is quite clear to me that letting her do her own thing for the most part is exactly where I need her to be. I am more than pleased with her.”

Despite his obvious arrogance, he did not appear to be mocking the woman. If anything, he was being quite true to her accomplishments and authentic in his sense of pride in the woman, however twisted and selfish it was. “As I said before, I merely decided it was time I paid you a social visit, if only to satiate my curiosity over who had caught her interest so deeply that she would relinquish her principles as wholly as she did. I will be requiring some of her services soon, and figured it best to get this confrontation out of the way sooner rather than later at a more inconvenient time.”

He was quite sure that Mythal had a fair amount of thoughts and opinions to throw his way. Better to let the man express himself now than at a time where it would delay the work that needed to be done. “I hear congratulations are in order, by the way. I can’t say that it doesn’t greatly amuse me that my Sword will be in union with Faera’s lost vessel. Not only will that be quite advantageous for me, but the crack brained goddess is going to be even more livid than she already is.” The very thought made him grin just the littlest bit.

At this point it was almost a game between which of the two men could be less impressed or bothered by the other. It wasn’t the first time Ozorith had tangled in this manner with a mortal before, but even he would readily admit that Mythal was impressively more staunch about it than others in the past. Then again, it added up, did it not? This man wasn’t fully a mortal, his blood half that of a celestial angel, which did make him a cut above the rest of his peers, even Serilda. Plus, he had spent practically his entire life being terrorized by Faera and her minions. This wasn’t the first time Mythal had played this song and dance, so he was more readily able to step up to the plate about it than Serilda was the first couple times Ozorith and the woman had talked.

Mythal rolled his eyes, wondering if the demon was done with his speech and commenting on the monologue. Then, the slayer sat forward and made a number of up front statements about how he wasn’t threatening him so there was no need for Ozorith to supposedly make love to his ego and marking Mythal as a nobody. He wasn’t worth the slayer’s time, the man said, remarking that as far as he was concerned Ozorith was just a man that was going to wind up dead at some point and that was going to be the end of it. But more importantly, Mythal lead into his thoughts that the demon lord was stupid if he didn’t think that Serilda would eventually betray him. Mythal didn’t have plans for the Prime, only because he was fully confident that his fiancee would ultimately make the move to end Ozorith’s life, an act which Mythal himself would find all too amusing.

Ozorith’s expression remained as amused as ever, though his eyes deepened a bit with what could only be anticipation at all the dark promises. He didn’t even seem too upset at being compared to Faera, Mythal remarking how Ozorith could stop counting his blessings now since the slayer’s union with Serilda was going to mean jack all to the Prime since neither of them would help him. He was instructed to stay out of Mythal’s way and stick to watching from the shadows, since he clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with. Sitting back in his chair, Mythal thanked him dryly for the congratulations before making it clear that Ozorith wouldn’t be invited.

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” he assured the man casually. “I much prefer to show up places uninvited.” It was basically a guarantee that the Prime Sin absolutely planned on being there for the big day, whether they wanted them or not. Ozorith chuckled a little, then. Mythal had accused him of having an ego, which wasn’t incorrect, but it was highly hypocritical when the mortal had gone on to try and act like Ozorith didn’t understand how deep the man’s abilities laid. No mere mortal could serve as a host for a god, so he knew quite well the potential of power that Mythal had. But as far as Ozorith was aware, while Mythal could certainly put up a fair bit of a fight, the man had nothing that would be needed to take down someone like himself. Afterall, Mythal’s magic was to slay gods, not demons.

Still, he had to admit to himself that he rather liked this bold and undaunted man. If Serilda had been any less ideal, he could very well have seen himself looking at twisting Mythal himself to his own machinations. Ozorith waved a dismissive hand. “I have no doubts that Serilda will make one, if not many, attempts on my life. She wouldn’t be the first. In the domain of wrath, it stands to reason that there will always be friction as my servants and followers are generally strong willed. If anything, I look forward to her making her move… though she may be less than thrilled by the consequences.”

Ozorith shrugged. “But really, Mythal, do you think I would waste my time coming here at all if I thought you not worth my time? You brush me off because you don’t like me, don’t like the threat I pose to your beloved, but even she would argue against the wisdom of that. Your opinion of me doesn’t make what I have to offer of any less value, whether or not you want to hear them from me. Such as: the recent conversation I had with Faera attempting to dig into information about Serilda, specifically. I even happen to have information on the whereabouts of your derelict sister…”

“But if you don’t want that kind of knowledge from me, then I can certainly take my leave. I’m sure she won’t hurt that many more people in the time it would take you to catch up to her the hard way.”

Despite what Mythal seemed to want to think of Ozorith, the demon lord didn’t have any intentions of trying to deceive or trick him into any deals or situations. Mythal chuckled, calling him stupid and commenting on Ozorith supposedly trying to lure Mythal into a scam, and the demon simply continued to smirk confidently. He could have made a number of comments reminding him how he’d never tricked or done anything misleading for Serilda. In fact, he’d always been more or less up front with the noblewoman since the day they met, perhaps not giving her all the details she wanted but he’d never hidden his more… nefarious intentions. Ozorith did want Mythal “under his thumb” so to speak, but not in the deceitful manner the man was implying.

He said that he wasn’t surprised to hear that Faera had asked about Serilda, given the woman’s performance in Kingdom Darkness. But, Mythal guessed correctly that Ozorith was hardly going to give the goddess much information as it would put himself at a disadvantage. But it seemed the slayer was willing to at least entertain the demon lord to a certain degree. He admitted he was looking for his sister, and that he was willing to take any information he could get on her, even if it was from him. He understood that eventually Serilda was going to be needed by the demon lord, and doing so would deprive her of being able to complete her duties as a Field Marshal, which would fall back on him as the Director. This, Mythal claimed, would be a debt owed on the demon lord’s part -- a bold suggestion that earned the mortal a raised brow of interest, though not an offended one. If Ozorith gave the information he had about his sister, then he would consider this future debt paid. And if that wasn’t good enough, Ozorith could get lost.

There was a moment of silence as the two men stared one another down before the demon lord finally chuckled to himself a bit merrily. It wasn’t a condescending sound, for once. “I like you,” he said rather honestly, though traces of his inherent arrogance still lingered in his eyes. At this point, it was such a deeply ingrained part of his personality that there was no way of getting fully rid of it. “I have no intentions of trying to trick you ‘under my thumb’ as you put it. I planned on giving you the information I have without cost, because what benefits you benefits Serilda, and thus myself. You are right in that I would not give Faera any information about her, because that would hinder my aims. And while you are not contracted to work for me, you are intimately involved in Serilda’s life and her performance will be greatly enhanced by you staying that way.”

He shrugged. It really was that simple to Ozorith. While he knew that Serilda would turn on him eventually, he did not believe it would be soon and he was more than willing to work with Mythal openly and honestly out of the genuine interest that the director’s behaviors would influence that of his Sword’s. He had no interest in hiding what he was or how selfish his aims were, but he did seem to view helping Mythal as another way to do his part in his connection to Serilda… if in a twisted way.

Ozorith leaned back a little further in the seat, lounging almost a bit lazily. “Vriko has currently holed up in Fiore, in the town of Morgate. She has a small band of dark mages that obey her every command, though my source tells me that the number of her little group used to be much larger than it currently is. Something I’m led to believe you and Serilda had a hand in.” From the light smirk he gave the man, it was clear that Ozorith hadn’t been given very many details on the attack in Vyntermire but nonetheless had put together that it had at least been a trap gone wrong on Vriko’s part. “She and her subordinates have taken up refuge in an old, rundown hall near the center of the city, protected on all sides by the waste and chemicals littering the area. She doesn’t expect to have anyone finding them there any time soon, particularly since the town is all but abandoned and quarantined off from the rest of the country at this point.”

“However, one of my rather loyal believers has managed to work her way into the group and has been traveling with Vriko for a number of months, now. I had one of my underlings reach out to her and she has agreed to meet with you and Serilda in secret at a time and place of your choosing to give you any details she has gathered that will help you find your sister and deal with her and the rest of her crew as you see fit. This would, of course, be in exchange for amnesty on her part.” It was a pretty standard deal, giving freedom to one criminal in exchange for their help in netting a much more dangerous one. The subject was willing and eager to please the Prime Sin of Wrath. She would more than assist the Rune Knights in the endeavor as long as they kept to the agreement of letting her go free once all was said and done.

Mythal listened to the information that Ozorith had to share without interrupting the demon lord. It was fairly simple. He knew exactly where Vriko was and had a loyal contact that would happily throw the woman under the rug for him, provided that she was taken care of. Mythal thought about it for a moment before agreeing to the terms but only so far back as a year, stating that he could provide amnesty only for things the contact had done during her employ with Vriko and nothing outside of that. Ozorith waved a dismissive hand. “That shouldn’t be an issue,” he told the director. “I’m unaware of the details of her full criminal history, but the term is fair. I’ll have one of my underlings confirm the agreement with her and then they will touch base with you to arrange the meeting.”

That seemed to be the end of that matter. Ozorith knew that his time with the darkness slayer was drawing to a close, as Mythal likely wished for the demon to be out of his home as quickly as possible. He had very little reason to linger for much longer, but he did want to leave with somewhat of a confirmation that the two of them were on the same page for at least one particular issue. Leveling his dark eyes on Mythal, he gave the man a look that was a bit more serious than his expression had been this entire exchange thus far.

“I trust you understand that it is Serilda, rather than yourself, who is Faera’s next target?” Ozorith asked. “I know that you are likely the last mortal on Earthland that needs to be warned on how dangerous she can be, but I feel I must emphasize just how crafty she can truly be. She and I have been… rivals, if you will… for centuries. I was there when she assumed the role of Divine over Kingdom Darkness and witnessed first hand her slow descent into madness. We have waged war against one another more times than I can remember, and I still cannot always predict how she may react in any given situation.”

From the tone of his voice, he wasn’t trying to talk himself up or brag about his history with the goddess. If anything, it sounded like he was only trying to give Mythal some context to how crafty Faera could be, that even he -- who has been warring with her for eons -- was to this day just as easily ensnared in her traps as anyone could be. “I gave her no information on Serilda, but I could see through her facade of composure. Faera is furious with what she views as my intervention in her attempts to secure you, and she will not waste the opportunity to try and shake us both by coming at Serilda hard, and in a way I’m sure neither of us will expect. While I am confident that the two of you can hold your own against most of her forces, the only way we will be able to stay ahead of her is by working together.”

Ozorith held Mythal’s gaze, his look conveying that he knew quite well that the slayer would not like that -- though unlike before, there was no mocking or amusement in his eyes. Faera was a very serious threat, and he was respecting her as such. His expectation was that Mythal held the same respect of her. “If I happen to catch word of any schemes on her part, I will contact one or both of you directly. Or, if I cannot do so myself, I will make sure Ruzatz is notified since he seems to be quite invested in this matter now as well. My hope is that I can trust you to be equally as communicative. I know Faera about as well as anyone can, and can probably tell you things about her that even Ruzatz doesn’t know. Believe of me and my intentions what you will, but when it comes to fighting her I will always be more than happy to provide anything that will put her at a disadvantage.”

If Mythal and Serilda didn’t want to like him, that was fine, but Faera was a threat that needed to be broached from a unified front. The slayer would be able to sense the very real sincerity in the demon’s words, his ability to sense when someone was lying more than enough to confirm the weight of their truth. Likewise, he could probably assume that if Mythal or Serilda ever wanted information on the goddess just for the sake of understanding her better in order to more efficiently plan against her, he would openly oblige such requests.

As the Prime Sin expected, Mythal looked less than pleased at the prospect of having to team up with Ozorith on anything. Generally, the Lord of Wrath would be quite entertained at such a sight, but right now he was electing to err on the side of unmasked sincerity. Arrogant and prideful though he was, even he knew how and when to convey himself in a manner that even the most staunch of enemies could find a way to come to an understanding with him. As much as Mythal would want to fight otherwise, even he couldn’t argue the value of the insight Ozorith could provide him on the goddess, nor the validity of the demon’s claim to want to keep as many steps ahead of Faera as possible.

The slayer agreed, stating that if they came across anything they would find a way to let him know -- if only so that Faera couldn’t steal Serilda’s chance to kill Ozorith herself. Despite himself, Ozorith’s light smirk returned and he chuckled a little, clearly appreciative of the joke even if both of them knew it wasn’t a joke in the slightest. Mythal glanced over at Susano, who Ozorith had more or less ignored for the duration of his visit. The demi-god held little interest to him, so the Prime Sin had all but forgotten about him. Even now, he deigned to keep his dark gaze on the god slayer rather than the want-to-be deity that had opted to play silent witness to the conversation.

That matter had been the end of everything that currently needed to be said between them, however, so with little else to discuss Mythal requested that Ozorith leave so he could start to look for a new piece of furniture to replace the one that the demon lord had clearly just tainted. “Very well,” he replied somewhat candidly. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you. Do let Serilda know that I will be calling on her soon.” And with that, he disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived, the only trace of him a cold spot in the air that lingered where he’d been sitting and quickly warmed up to the temperature of the rest of the room.

---

Darkness.

Pure. Impenetrable. Unending. How long he had been drowning in it, Hugo wasn’t sure. He had only hazy memories of his former life, though occasionally his drowsiness was interrupted by brief and fleeting moments of clarity. Not that he’d had too many of those, lately. He couldn’t even remember the last one, nor how long ago it had taken place. Days? Months? Years? He couldn’t be sure, but he also didn’t really care. His entire world now was simply darkness and apathy. And a rough scratching along his back…

Hugo blinked his eyes open slowly, the distant sensation enough to stir him a bit from his lethargy. He was vaguely aware that he was being dragged somewhere, though that realization didn’t worry him as much as it probably should have. There was next to no light where he was, the only illumination being quite dim and of an eerie hue, the source of which he could not pinpoint. The further he was dragged, the more aware he became. His massively muscular body shifted slightly as he attempted to sit up only to find himself bound quite securely by chains that were wrapped around his arms and torso.

He grunted in annoyance, still not fully up to speed with his mind, tilting his head back to try and get a look at who was pulling him along. Or rather, what. A creature seemingly made of darkness, vaguely humanoid in shape with long ears like tentacles held the other end of the chain that bound him, dragging the large man behind itself. It should have been a terrifying sight, but Hugo wasn’t quite awake enough yet to fully comprehend it. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was… well, what was the last thing he remembered?

Serilda. That’s right. His pathetic excuse of a wife had utilized the services of a witch to summon his spirit temporarily back to Earthland and the mortal realm. She’d finally caught on to the sins of his former life, needing him to confirm their validity, which he did happily. Even after his death she’d continued to nag him incessantly. Thankfully she’d left him alone ever since, but the sight of her running away in tears had been quite fulfilling. He could still see the look on her face now as his words cut her deep and she realized how little she’d meant to him, how little she’d ever mean to anyone.

How long ago had that been? It felt like only minutes, but at the same time it felt like a decade had passed since then. Getting a little more energy to him, he shifted a bit more aggressively in his bindings, though not enough to really hinder the creature that held custody of him. “Hey,” he said, his voice a bit groggy and lacking any semblance of panic that would have been appropriate for the situation. “Hey, where are you taking me?”

There was little surprise that the dark creature didn’t respond to his question, though that didn’t quelch the man’s annoyance over not being answered. “Did you hear me?” he asked. The creature didn’t even turn to look at him. Figures. Recognizing that antagonizing the thing would get him nowhere, he instead started trying to take in his surroundings a little better. For the most part everything was the same, just an endless wasteland of night with an odd dim light that was barely enough for him to see by, but soon they passed off the rough ground onto something man made.

The smooth floor was at least a little easier to deal with being dragged across. His hazel eyes scanned the building, noting the perfect and intricately crafted walls that were structured from a type of metal that was pure black, just like the rest of this land. Their course twisted and turned down various corridors, and before long he was brought to what had to be the final destination. He was fully awake and alert by the time they arrived, though he didn’t say anything. His eyes drank in the obvious throne room, as regal as any one might see on Earthland, though at the top of the dias where the throne would usually be there was only a cloud that he couldn’t see through. In fact, the only one he saw was a woman standing at the base of the stairs, with white hair and golden eyes.

He looked at the woman silently, pausing only to glare at the shadowed creature as it slid him forward to her, growling lightly in annoyance. When the beast sank into the floor and disappeared, his gaze once more returned to her. She called him by name, specifically his married name, causing his eyes to narrow a bit in suspicion. Introducing herself as Jihl, she claimed the title of the thirteenth member of some group known as the Immortal Thirteen, and the voice of some dark entity known as Faera. As if the introduction had been a cue, a flash of green drew his attention up to the enshrouded throne where he saw a pair of eyes watching him intently through the fog.

Hugo observed those eyes for a moment before allowing his attention to return to Jihl, who continued to explain that he had apparently been spending an indefinite amount of time in some wasteland. Castle Oblivion was what she called their current location, informing him that it was a rare honor to have been brought here and even going so far as to state that he was free to take a moment to revel in its supposed glory. Hell, she even paused to give him time to do so. His brows scrunched in an expression of confusion and incredulity. Was this chick for real?

All he did was stare at her like she had two heads, clearly not altogether moved like he should have been. Returning to her words, Jihl finally got to the reason why he had been brought here: His marriage in his former life to Serilda was of note to the woman, or rather to Faera, whom the noblewoman had apparently made quite the enemy out of. His face furrowed further into disbelief as she continued to talk, stating that their interest in him was for the purpose of gathering information on Serilda in the hopes that they could use whatever intelligence he could provide to strategize against her. And, as in most situations like this, there was a hard way and an easy way for them to get what they wanted.

There was a long moment of silence as his gaze flicked back and forth between Jihl and Faera, his expression of bewilderment never lessening in that time. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry… am I… supposed to know who either of you are? Or this… Oblivion place?” Oddly, Hugo wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. A part of him surely wanted to sass these women to hell and back just on principle for the way he’d been dragged along the ground and dumped at their feet, bound in chains like some slave. His confusion greatly outweighed his desire to be snarky at the moment, however, and he was earnestly flummoxed over all the information Jihl had thrown on him like any of it was supposed to mean anything to him.

No matter the response, he would sigh in resignation. “Good to know that wedding vows are made under false pretenses,” Hugo muttered to himself, though not so quietly that the other women wouldn’t hear. “Death was supposed to be when I was finally free of having to deal with that prissy goodie two shoes. Clearly that was a lie.” Even after shedding his mortal coil, Hugo couldn’t be rid of Serilda. First she would talk to him nonstop, interrupting the blissful silence of purgatory with her incessant nagging. Then she’d had him summoned back to the real world to talk to him. Now other people that he didn’t even know were demanding his time, but only because she had gone and done something to make enemies of them, whoever the hell they were.

Whatever. He’d give them what they wanted. The sooner they finished this the sooner he could go back to not having to be reminded of that stick in the mud’s existence. It’s not like he held any love loss for her. “Yeah, she was my wife when I was alive, though I only married her ‘cause I was using her and stealing from her family. She’s pretty enough, but not too bright. Never caught on to what I was doing, happy in her ignorance and the comforts of nobility. Very trusting. Honestly there’s not a lot to tell. The sex was as boring as she was. Was there something specific you were looking for?”

Hugo wasn’t necessarily the smartest man in existence, but he wasn’t an idiot either. What he lacked in booksmarts and subtlety, he made up for with street smarts and charm. Granted, he wasn’t being altogether charming at the moment, but the only reason for that was because he wasn’t seeing a reason to be. The large man didn’t know who either of these women were, though the more he woke up the more of a… pressure… he felt coming from the clouded throne. There was certainly a lot he probably could tell them about Serilda, but in order to know what would be most useful to them he needed to know what kind of way they were most interested in attacking her.

Apparently, this Jihl woman didn’t seem to understand the intent behind his efforts. Rather than provide more clarity on the type of information they were hoping for, she wrote him off as useless and decided that he would simply have the memories stripped from him in some place called the Pool. He didn’t know what that was, but it certainly didn’t sound good. Now aggravated by the woman’s haughty attitude, he fixed a glare at her even as the shadow creature came back to take him away. “Now listen here, bitch. You’re the one who dragged me all the way out here to ask me vague questions. Don’t get mad at me for the vague answers you get in return.”

He wasn’t yelling at her or over the top with anger, but he wasn’t going to just sit back and be treated like a piece of broken furniture just because they had him tied up and at the disadvantage. Especially when he was already dead and therefore didn’t exactly have much left to lose. He’d shown a willingness to work with them and give them what they wanted, and her response was to act like he’d told her to get lost. What a piece of work.

But even as Jihl turned to walk away and Hugo finally started fighting his bindings in earnest, at least trying not to go down without a fight, something in the air changed. A chill went down his spine and a sensation of dread and paranoia the likes of which he’d never felt before washed over him, leaving him paralyzed in his chains. He looked around with wide eyes, doing his best to keep the panic under control though his heart was racing so hard he could feel it in his throat. At first, he thought he was being punished for sassing the woman and being non-compliant, despite the fact that he had been trying to be compliant.

But as both Jihl and the shadow stopped in their steps as well, turning to look up at the throne, he realized that might not be the case. Jihl sounded as alarmed as he felt as the green eyes of the Dark Mistress disappeared from view behind the fog, her protests of concern cut off by some unseen manner. There was a light clattering as the shadow released his chains and sank back into the floor, and then only a moment later the chains around him dissolved into ether and joined the creature in the shadows. Confused and wary, Hugo remained seated on the ground and nervously rubbed the soreness from his arms as he watched the scene before him.

Faera stepped out from the dark cloud that had been hiding her before, a woman that was both beautiful and terrifying to behold. Hugo found himself unable to look away from her, though not entirely from the dread he felt at her presence. She descended the dias with an unearthly grace, making her way directly toward him. With a pleasant smile, she voiced her belief that Hugo didn’t seem to understand where he was, which was true. He’d said as much only moments ago. She explained, saying that this place, Kingdom Darkness, served as a purgatory for those whose souls were too much in balance to be slated for heaven or hell, and that it was his deeds in life that had punished him to an afterlife of what essentially amounted to non-existence.

He listened in silence, despite the questions he had. Hugo knew nothing of this Faera woman, but he wasn’t so ignorant as to think interrupting or disrespecting her in any fashion wouldn’t come back to haunt him. He recognized a boss when he saw one, even though it had been a long time since someone had been in charge over his freedoms. She informed him that usually the fate of those who had been sent here after death didn’t concern her, as they had more than earned their doom by the way they’d handled themselves in life. But Hugo was different, or so she seemed to be suggesting. He was a resource of some value that would be wasted by being delivered to the Pool, particularly when he seemed open to giving them what they wanted and just needed more understanding to provide that. In fact, she seemed to think he had potential.

She knelt before him, running her fingers down his arm and drawing attention to his flesh, once quite tan and now starting to turn a sickly gray. Given Hugo’s attraction to assertive and commanding women, it got a small rise out of him as he was equal parts frightened and aroused. Requesting that he humor her in answering a question, Faera requested his thoughts on how he would feel about the opportunity to be reborn in a divine form that came with power and influence the likes of which he’d probably never thought he’d be able to have. She claimed to be able to remove the ignorance of his mind, to evolve him into something greater than he could ever be as a mortal.

It was an enticing gift that she was dangling in front of him, that much he couldn’t deny. The selfishness in him was quite captivated by the idea, already turning it around in his mind and examining it for its potential. As he did that, Faera explained that what she sought was Serilda’s destruction, but not just her body. She wanted to tear apart the woman’s spirit, wanted to make her suffer long and hard before allowing her to perish in agony, and Faera believed the key to making that happen was Hugo himself. However, she needed to know if Hugo was interested in helping to make that happen by assuming himself into a position as one of her Trumpets, letting go of his mortal life to become an immortal archangel, all for the low price of destroying the woman that had once been his wife.

The man’s eyes were quite wide at this point as he truly never had considered such heights of power for himself. In life, Hugo had not been a mage. He’d used some magical equipment in his line of work, of course -- both his legitimate job and his criminal one -- but he’d never become adept enough with any one type of magic to consider himself a wizard. He’d just been a man with a conniving mind and a drive to get what he wanted, no matter the means. Magic had been helpful in that journey, but had never been a necessity. What she was offering him, though… it was damn near unfathomable. Only a fool would reject it.

But despite what others might think, Hugo wasn’t the type of man to jump at the promise of power without looking both ways first. Not only was that foolhardy and a way to get himself trapped into a worse situation than he was already in, but it also never looked good to a potential new employer to be so easily manipulated. After a moment of silent consideration, he said, “I won’t lie, ma’am, that’s a seriously tempting offer. Never thought I’d get a shot at something as fantastical as eternal life and divinity, let alone with the aim of knocking that uppity prig off her high horse. Hell, I’d probably have helped you with that anyway, even without the kind of… gifts… you’re offering me. Sounds like a reward in and of itself. I know that woman better than she knows herself, elsewise I wouldn’t have been able to turn her in circles all those years and keep her off my scent. So if you want to know all her secrets and the things that make her tick and crumble to pieces, then yeah… I’m the guy you want.”

He paused there for a moment, somehow finding the strength to look her in the eyes despite the panic her aura and demeanor continued to instill in her. There seemed to be a ‘but’ coming, though perhaps not in a manner she might have expected. Maybe in another situation with another person he might have tried to tack on more benefits for the sake of his self interest, but it was kind of hard to top what she was already offering him and even a conman like him knew where the line was and when not to cross it. No, his concerns were of a different, wiser matter. “I guess I’d just like to know what the catch is, if any. What you’re serving is a platter of gold, and I can see that… and I’m more than willing to accept. But I’m not so greedy as to take it without understanding everything that comes with it first. I like to know what I’m getting into, and what would be expected of me. I enjoy delivering surprises but ain’t much a fan of getting them. Being turned into some… mindless shadow beast or glorified slave, for instance… can’t say that’s worth the cost of divinity.”

“But if you’re just lookin’ for a reliable servant that will use what you’re offering and take some initiative to get shit done, do some dirty work… yeah, I reckon I can scrounge up more than a little loyalty to you and your goals. Especially for the added pleasure of getting the chance to ruin Seri’s life even more than I already have.” Despite everything, Hugo found it in himself to smirk up at the goddess, betraying the truth of how much he would sincerely enjoy being a thorn in the woman’s side. And there was something dark in the look too, a flash of sadism that spoke to how much he had already manipulated and abused the woman in the past.

He felt his request for clarity and honesty was fair enough, and from the agreeable chuckle that Faera gave it was clear that the goddess felt the same. Divinty and eternal life was all well and good in his mind, but if it came at the cost of losing himself, then the riches on the offered platter would prove itself to be fool’s gold. All the treasure in the world was useless if he couldn’t actually be himself to enjoy them. Much to his dismay, Faera informed him that becoming a mindless shadow was certain to be in his future should he refuse her offer, though the way she said it did not lead him to believe it was a threat or attempt of coersion of any kind. Indeed, she followed up the statement to confirm that it wasn’t really something in her control, that such was simply the fate of all souls that found their way to this place after death.

As he cautiously accepted Faera’s assistance in standing to his feet, Hugo thought about the shadow creature earlier that had dragged him all this way. Had that thing been a person, once? He didn’t really have time to put much thought into it. The goddess affirmed his desire to want to know exactly what he was getting into, complimenting his intelligence and wisdom in questioning the strings that came along with the gifts rather than simply taking them at face value. Pretty words, and certainly ones that weren’t unappreciated by the mortal, but not enough to cure him of his wariness just yet.

According to Faera, her former Trumpet -- whose position Hugo would be replacing -- was a rather cunning individual that enjoyed playing with his food, with arrogance enough that he wasn’t very cautious about how he approached his duties. And apparently, Serilda herself had used that ego to her advantage and managed to slay the man. Or at the very least render him harmless. The former Trumpet’s fate was rather vague, but whatever Serilda had done to him it had been enough to end his threat. Hugo frowned thoughtfully at the words, his mind turning. He remembered Serilda being fairly decent as a warrior. She’d been trained by a rather strict Rune Knight and certainly had a talent for combat, that much was true. But his former wife had never been a mage that he could recall, and surely she’d never been so powerful as to go toe to toe with an archangel and be the one victorious.

The goddess informed him that she had no need of shadow drones, as her army consisted of an unfathomable number of them from all the souls that had been rotting here for what had to be eons uncounted. What she needed was agents of sound and whole mind that she could trust to do her bidding and apply their own intelligence and talents toward furthering those goals, presumably without the need for constant supervision or micromanagement. In her own words, she needed leaders, something she felt he was. She wasn’t wrong. Hugo had been in charge of most of his Earthly operations, successfully running a large crew of unsavory criminals stealing rather large fortunes worth of resources for personal gain.

Thus, they were down to the catch: her end game. Faera’s aim was to fully invade the mortal realm and open it up to the corruption of Kingdom Darkness, stripping it of its light and essentially expanding her rule beyond what she currently had. Destroying Serilda was one of the many steps that needed to be taken along the way toward that achievement, particularly as the staunch noblewoman was clearly making it a point to be in the woman’s way. A question came to mind, but Hugo tucked it away for now, patiently waiting for Faera to finish answering his last one. Ultimately, it would be the mortal realm -- and all who dwelt within it -- that would succumb to the power of Kingdom Darkness. There would be no survivors, including those left on Earthland for whom he might still care for and have a connection to. And the price was that he would need to play an active hand in assuring her desires came to pass. In exchange, Hugo would rule under her, answer only to her, and possibly achieve a more elevated status of some kind depending on how well he performed.

For a moment his mind had been briefly on his woman back in the living world, the one he’d been with for years even before courting and eventually marrying Serilda. He liked the woman, loved her even, but theirs had still been a shallow relationship based around mutual greed and lust. However, the rather hungry smirk that Faera gave him on that last statement, and the somewhat heated look in her emerald eyes, wiped all traces of the other woman from his mind. After all, if she had been in his shoes, she would have already thrown him under the bus for a chance like this, and he had no qualms about doing the same. He rather boldly allowed himself a slow glance over the goddess, taking a moment to truly appreciate just how attractive she was. Maybe he’d catch hell for it and maybe he wouldn’t, but so far not hiding his thoughts seemed to be working well for him. There was still a mantle of dread cloaking his body, but that did nothing to stop the small and receptive smirk that worked its way on to his own lips. Yes, he could definitely get behind the possibility of what she was suggesting on that front.

He did not have to think for much longer after that. Faera had laid everything out for him as bare as a newborn babe, and the listed cons of the position were fleeting concerns to him at best. Slight smirk still on his face, he returned his gaze to hers and bowed his head respectfully. “Just show me where to sign, mistress.”

There really was little reason for Hugo to try and press more information out of Faera besides what things might affect him in the light of his making this decision. Perhaps others would have wanted to know why Faera wanted to destroy the mortal realm, out of some need to affirm whether or not they could stand by the goddess’ side in her desires, but Hugo was not such a man. The plain truth was that he simply didn’t care what her reasons were for wanting to do it. Why should he? He was already dead, and those who remained among the living that he knew weren’t so dear to him that he would throw away a chance at immortality and power in what would inevitably prove to be a futile attempt to protect them. Plus, while he hadn’t exactly been the most religious of men in life, even he knew better than to pry for personal details from a god.

So, he accepted. If the only cost was to screw over the rest of those remaining still alive on Earthland, well that was a bargain deal as far as he was concerned. His decision clearly pleased Faera greatly as she smiled wide at him and expressed her gladness. The goddess turned back to Jilh, who looked unfazed by the moment but Hugo would eat his shadowy rags if the woman wasn’t seething on the inside. While Hugo greatly wanted to shoot the white haired bitch a smug look, he refrained… for now. Better to wait until after all was said and done before acting too cocky about it. Faera instructed Jihl to bring the remaining members of the Immortal Thirteen, and the woman bowed her head in subservience before leaving to complete the task.

As soon as the woman was gone, Faera returned her attention to Hugo and apologized for her emissary’s behaviors. It seemed that Jihl was typically the one who spoke to others on behalf of herself, as Faera almost never communicated directly to anyone without a very specific reason. In fact, it seemed that he was only the second person in what Hugo could only assume was the last few centuries at least that had been graced with the pleasure of hearing Faera’s natural voice, and apparently he was more appealing on the eyes than the other person had been. Hugo certainly recognized the admittance for the honor it was meant to be and didn’t hesitate to acknowledge it with another gratefully bowed head, even smiling from her compliment. “Well in that case, I’ll be sure to enjoy every minute of your dulcet tongue as you allow me.”

He said it with a surprising air of professionalism, but there was a hint of bold flirtation in the comment given the rather obvious double entendre. When Faera stepped forward and moved to link her arm in his, Hugo easily slipped into a courtly mannerism, holding his arm out for her while his other came to rest at the small of his back. He held himself tall and walked gracefully beside her at the pace she set, holding an air of confidence so smooth that one might not even stop to realize that he was in tattered clothing barely suitable for a beggar on the streets. Years of courting and subsequently marrying Serilda had taught him more than enough about the proper way to treat a lady -- or in this case, a goddess.

There was much to discuss, she told him, but the vast majority of that knowledge would be immediately implanted into his mind upon receiving her power. There were at least a few things Faera felt it appropriate to inform him of for now though, and Hugo listened raptly to what she had to say. There were three other Trumpets in her employ, one named Sheperd who was presently hiding himself in the mortal realm somewhere, and two more by the names of Ruman and Izrael that were recently sent there with the more open purpose of getting a read on just how far Serilda’s powers extended.

As well as that of her soon to be husband.

Hugo turned with controlled, but open, shock at the words, his brows furrowing together in surprise. Serilda was getting remarried? Whose interest could that dull woman have possibly caught? Probably just someone else who wanted her money. Then again, now that his mind was clearing up and memories were starting to return in greater clarity, he recalled the look on her face when she’d had his ghost summoned. He’d informed her quite cruelly that no one would ever be truly interested in a woman as prudish and lacking in personality as her, and his words had struck an even greater nerve than he’d hoped it to. He’d never gotten the chance to confirm it since she’d run out of the room crying like a child, but for the brief moments he’d had his wits about him he’d suspected that perhaps she’d been in a relationship of some kind at the time and it hadn’t been going well. There was a story there, and he was interested to know it.

But first, there were more important things at hand. As Faera herself told him, a lot had happened during the time that he’d been drifting into mindlessness in the wastes of Kingdom Darkness, all of which he would need to be filled in on. It was apparently Sheperd that had unearthed Hugo’s relationship to Serilda, as well as what they currently knew about the noblewoman’s magic, which had supposedly revealed itself sometime after Hugo had died. He wasn’t sure how long ago that was, but it couldn’t have been too long. Despite the short time, however, she had managed to become quite powerful, and not just with her magic. Apparently, Serilda had also managed to gain some rather powerful connections with two demons of all things, Prime Lords that associated themselves with the sins of Lust and Pride.

Hugo’s eyes narrowed in an expression vaguely reminiscent of disbelief. Not that he thought Faera was lying to him, of course. He was quite certain she was telling the truth. Simply, the truth was so wildly outside of the Serilda he knew that if the information had come from any other source he probably would have dismissed it as a fabrication. But apparently, she had used those allies to gain enough power to single handedly destroy the former Trumpet whose position Hugo would be assuming, not just killing him but actually stripping his divinity. Even for someone as out of the know with religion as himself, Hugo knew without needing an explanation that such a feat was so far removed from what any mortal was capable of that it should have been near impossible. But if that were the case, Hugo wouldn’t be here now.

“Interesting,” he murmured, ruminating the revelation in his mind. “Serilda is terrified of demons. Terrified of a lot of supernatural things, really. Demons, gods, dragons, ghosts… Really, anything that boasts powers greatly beyond the scope of her control. She’s not necessarily the type of woman that needs to be in control at all times, I’ll give her that… but she definitely is scared of anything that wields strength outside of what most humans can fathom. Or at least, she was. But she also wasn’t a mage when I was alive, so it’s entirely possible she finally moved past all that.”

Faera moved the topic along. The man Serilda was intended to marry went by the name of Mythal Ragnos, though Faera referred to him as a “vessel”. The man had only been born by her own machinations, intending him to be a link between Kingdom Darkness and the mortal world that she could use to travel between both realms. Despite being the mistress of Kingdom Darkness, it was not as easy as he might have otherwise assumed for her -- or anyone -- to come and go as she pleased. In fact, she herself was unable to leave at all, bound to the realm through whatever forces placed her in charge of it. Meanwhile, her servants were required to use powerfully enchanted items that only worked for limited amounts of time. Thus, she’d created Mythal to use as a means of transportation between the worlds to do as she pleased.

However, before she could enact on her plans, Mythal had been taken from her. So far, she had made several tries in luring him back into her control but had as of yet been unable to succeed. Faera credited this to her own haste and misplanning, explaining that she had assumed herself infallible in her aims and because of that paid the price of failure. Now, she had her eyes set on a victory that would come at a slow, steady burn, but to do that required Hugo filling the currently vacant role of her final Trumpet. His skin raised in goosebumps as she ran the tips of her fingers down his arm, drawing out a bit of the natural color he’d had in life. The sensation heightened the dread of her aura tenfold, but so too did it riddle him with a powerful arousal that refused to be fully drowned out by his fear. Hugo had a thing for powerful and dangerous women, and while many that he’d known on Earthland had fit that kind of bill, they all paled in comparison to the deadly goddess that currently hung on his limb.

The process of turning him into an archangel would be painful, she told him. Hugo had no doubts of that, but she reassured him that the end result would be far worth the temporary agony. “Few blessings of worth come without a suitably proportionate cost. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but I ain’t gonna shy away from it neither. Not when the reward is to spend an eternity in the company of a woman as rapturous as yourself.” Even shackled by the low hum of simmering panic in her presence as he was, Hugo still found it within himself to be charming.

She inquired if he was prepared for the task ahead. “Probably not,” he admitted honestly, giving her a slightly nervous smirk. All the bravado in the world couldn’t compensate for a mortal man attempting to fathom the intimidating depths of immortality that laid before him, and there was no sense in hiding that from her. He assumed she’d be able to see through such lies anyway, being a goddess and all. “But I’m as prepared as I could ever be, and waiting ain’t gonna make it any easier. I ain’t much for procrastinating anyway. A man knows when to suck it up and get the job done, so I will follow where you lead, my lady.”

He voiced his thoughts over Serilda’s fears, or at least those she used to have, and expressed his surprise over her willingness to not just engage against a goddess in battle but to ally herself with demon lords in the process. Faera assured him that his assessment of the woman was still very much correct, as the goddess had been able to sense Serilda’s fear while the mortal had been within her realm. It seemed Serilda had indeed been quite terrified of the task before her, however the motivation that she had at the time -- freeing this Mythal -- far outweighed any dread she felt. The noblewoman had put a large target on her back in her boldness to take Kingdom Darkness by storm and remove Mythal from Faera’s grasp, but in doing so also had earned herself quite a bit of respect from the goddess. Serilda had proven herself a force to be reckoned with, even on the level of gods and demons.

It was all very… interesting. Even at his most disrespectful, Hugo could never deny that Serilda had always had a lot of things going for her. She was beautiful, collected, commanding in her own way, intelligent, and more than capable of combat. However, she had also been naive about a great many things, overly trusting, paralyzed by her fears, and usually had the personality of cold sandpaper. Sure, she had shown a softer side around him once he’d started to court her and that had at least made her more bearable, but at the same time it had made her all the more boring. Soft and delicate women were a dime a dozen. Hugo liked his women confident, rough around the edges, and wild, things Serilda had never been.

Now, though, it seemed she had grown quite a bit past that, and for the first time in his life -- or well, existence -- Hugo actually found himself genuinely interested in hers. For once, Serilda actually sounded a bit exciting.

But there would be plenty of time to focus on upheaving her life later. For now, Hugo had more pressing and important matters at hand that included the company of a sexy and deadly goddess. He had even chanced another elegant flirtation in their conversation, which was met with a smile, if an amused one. Faera complimented herself in reply to his words, but it didn’t put him off. If anything, it just made her all the more alluring to him, particularly as she reached up and brushed her fingers sensually along his face. The act sent a shiver down his spine, one that he couldn’t entirely hide. Not that he was trying to. He had a hunch that while Faera probably enjoyed a man that could face her despite the effects of her terrifying aura, she probably also enjoyed the rises her powerful presence got out of lesser beings such as himself. And hey, if that was what did it for her, he didn’t mind letting her have her fill.

Faera inquired as to his readiness and Hugo briefly explained that, while he probably wasn’t as ready as he should be, there was no reason to linger and he had no intentions of backing out. So, she drew him into the room beyond and the place where his fate would be forever changed. The room was dimly lit with a series of violet flames set upon a series of pillars that reached up into the dark ceiling. Despite the images he’d formed in his head when she’d referred to the “cauldron”, it was not a raised structure as such but rather a pool of sorts built into the floor and filled with what he assumed was a liquid of some kind. It was difficult to tell. It was silver in color, but so smooth that it looked solid, with nary a ripple or shiver to suggest that one couldn’t simply walk across its surface without falling in. Surrounding the pool were the Immortal Thirteen, though nearly all of them were hidden beneath their cowls. The only one to show her face was Jihl, who stood closest to them where they had entered.

Hugo eyed the other mortal curiously for a moment as Faera led him toward the edge of the pool, his expression blank aside from the attentive way he took in the room itself. He had no understanding as of yet as to the purpose of the mysterious group, though surely all would be revealed to him in time. The goddess drew his attention back to her as she remarked about his rags and removed them, the fraying material crumbling out of existence and leaving him as bare as the day he’d been born. He was a little surprised, but not much, and certainly not embarrassed. Hugo had little to be embarrassed about. He was a large man covered in tight, rippling muscles from head to toe, with exceptionally broad shoulders and toned abs that may as well have been chiseled out of marble. He had spent the majority of his adult life working hard labor in the Sinclair mines, and even after death it showed just what great shape the job had put him in.

However, he wasn’t the only one who was naked. Faera had also waved away her own clothing, revealing herself to be quite as succulent beneath her leotard as the rest of her had suggested. Hugo was doing his best to be professional, but he couldn’t help the slight wandering his eyes did in the brief moment he had to do so before she took him by the hand and drew him into the pool. The liquid felt as thick as it looked, more like sludge than water. Given the rather large mass of his body, Hugo was met with quite the resistance as he tried to push his way through it. Once they were in the center, Faera physically eased him down into the substance until he was floating upon its surface with the entire front of his body exposed to the shadowed roof above him.

He remained in relatively somber silence as she began to work her magic, soaking up the last few moments that remained of his mortality and anticipating the rough road that laid before him. Faera ran her fingertips meticulously along his body, starting at his face and moving lower from there. Though he couldn’t see the runes forming along his flesh, nor the darkness that spread from her finger, he could more than feel its power. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, a simmering might that made his body tremble like it was about to burst from a pressure it couldn’t sustain. It wasn’t painful, though, and so he could only assume that everything at the moment was simply set up and preparation for the culmination of the ritual. The goddess chanted as she worked, moving her way down toward his toes and despite everything, he couldn’t help the slight excitement he got at her touch.

Eventually, the Immortals picked up the goddess’ chant, and with nowhere else to look but up Hugo didn’t miss the strands of darkness that wove their way through the air and into Faera. Of course, his attention was quickly pulled from that when Faera’s face obscured his vision, the stunning woman leaning down and placing her lips on his. Hugo wasn’t sure if this was part of the ritual or not, as he couldn’t feel any of her magic seeping into him like it had from her fingers, but he didn’t really care. All he did was take the moment and opportunity to enjoy it, bold enough to return the rather lustful gesture with a soft grunt of appreciation and desire. The act, Faera told him rather ominously after she’d pulled away, had not been part of the ritual but rather to wish him luck, and he understood in that moment that the hard part was about to begin.

He wanted to smirk at her or do something to mask his fear behind some kind of layer of false confidence, even a playful one that they both would know was a front. However, even a man as staunch as he was couldn’t help but dread what was before him, and he couldn’t bring it in himself to pretend otherwise. Particularly when her wishes of good fortune to him promised pain unlike anything he’d experienced before. Considering that Hugo had died a slow and agonizing death with his body being crushed by a boulder, that was saying a lot. Faera put her hand on his chest and Hugo braced himself, physically and mentally, before submerging him fully beneath the liquid.

In an instant, he was swallowed in blinding misery. His entire body felt like it was on fire, each nerve searing in agony so hot that he might as well have been submerged into a sun. Without stopping to think about it, Hugo’s mouth opened on instinct to scream only to accidentally breath the thick molasses into his lungs. He began to choke, a process that was unfathomably horrific given that he was already dead and could, theoretically, endure the sensation for an indefinite amount of time without release. He clawed desperately at his chest and throat, thrashing beneath the surface of the pool and desperate for air. His mind was utterly blank, unable to think about anything except for the way it felt like every single molecule in his body was violently morphing and rearranging themselves.

How long it lasted, Hugo wasn’t sure. It felt like hours. He’d lost all sense of time, his entire world consisting of nothing but anguish and unbridled fear. As everything came to a culmination, his wild lashings were exchanged with the stiff arching of his back as the dark magic consumed him so deeply he couldn’t even control his own body anymore, completely at the mercy of the power that felt like it was ripping him apart piece by piece, coalescing most potently along either side of his spine.

And like that, it was over. Hugo broke through the surface of the liquid with a feral roar so loud and deep it shook the cavern. His skin had turned an ashy black color, his once dark hair a pristine white and flowing well past his shoulders. If anything, his already overly muscular form had bulked itself even more. Six great wings with dusty silver and white feathers protruded from his back, each one about as long as he was tall and flexed to their full span behind him. Over his head floated a dark halo with several spikes along it that caused it to resemble more of a crown than anything else. Completely white eyes that lacked any irises or pupils were wide as saucers as he stared ahead, not really registering anything at all as he hunched where he stood, gasping deeply for air. His new form still shook greatly from the ordeal it had just gone through, his muscles knotting and spasming uncontrollably in the lingering effects of agony.

He fought to get his body and breath under control, which got easier with each second that went by as the reality of immortality and divinity settled into his core until he was finally calm, if a bit weary. Finally, he was able to look at himself, or at least that which he could see. His hands lifted in front of his face, turning gently so he could observe the new tint of his flesh. He flexed his back and the wings that now graced it, getting a feel for their weight and range before gently settling them down. Standing shakily to his feet, he realized he was much taller than before as well, easily having added at least another foot from what his mortal height to a total of around seven feet.

Turning his head to glance down at the goddess, his colorless eyes watched her for a moment seemingly without emotion before a light smirk tugged up his lips. “Does it look as good as it feels?” he asked her.