Chapter Three: Killing Time

I.

As bad as Ribcage was, with the darkness and death, Dis was ten times worse. The place was like ash incarnate, yet much less pleasant than the plane of ash. It was hot, and the ground itself seemed to be made of lead and iron that burned when one walked on it. It was hard to breath under the ashen grey sky, and hard to see in the bleak blackened landscape. Rhedoc coughed heavily. As much as he'd avoided this plane so far, he'd spent that much time in it, trying to get toward some fortress of blackened iron. Large blackish things with leather wings and hideous beaks flocked overhead in the blackened skies, someone had named them vrocks, so Rhedoc had heard, and vrock perfectly imitated the hideous cries they made.

To hear Garzot, for that was the name of his guiding fiend, say it, the fortress was not itself the great city of Dis, and that was a small mercy, for if the archfiend of Dis held Cierra, there was no hope. Well, none beyond begging one of his possible fathers to intercede, and that would be just as foolhardy. Powers and celestials disliked being asked for things, especially by Rhedoc. He'd made most of them rather angry in his dealings.

"We almost there?" He breathed, stopping for a moment, not daring to sit on the blasted landscape.

"Almost. Another few hours' walking, and we'll be there. Why are you so eager to die, little aasimar?"

"Nothing you'd understand, Garzot, nothing at all. Note how I don't ask about you being quite atypical for a baatezu?"

Garzot simply frowned, as best his could with the permanent grimace that was his face. "I understand more than you think, little aasimar."

"Women. They make us do really barmy things, friend," Rhedoc replied sardonically.

"Now I am your friend? That remains to be seen. I am helping you, but only due to our business relationship."

More silence. Conversation came in short bursts between the two, the tentative alliance strained from the get go. Two sullen figures made their way across the harsh landscape, standing out in the bleak expanse of nothingness. One large shape with horns and a tail, another smaller one leaning heavily on a glaive, simply moving along as best they could.

II.

The fortress of Voradlak loomed in front of them like a single forbidding tooth jutting up from the wasteland of Dis. It's blackened walls stretched skyward, towers and turrets splitting off and away from it and further up, ever trying to claw a hole in the ceiling of the next layer above. Things like vrocks, and more hideous than vrocks flitted and soared around each spire like a group of flies buzzing over a dead corpse. This did not look well, and Rhedoc suddenly felt sick once more. He choked back the rising bile and stepped forward, slamming his fist repeatedly on the massive iron door. It hissed and sizzled, burning his hand, though he barely felt it. Somewhere within was Cierra, and that was cause enough to ignore the flesh-rending agony that ripped through his hand. Slowly but surely the undecorated rough-beaten blackened iron doors swung open, a throng of foul creatures of each imaginable manner clamoring within, trying to run out and throw themselves upon the celestial child who dared intrude upon them. All that held them back were a group of nearly identical creatures with greenish leathery skin and long scraggly beards. Each held a glaive of their own, serrated and vile.

Rhedoc moved forward, his free hand dipping to one of the short swords at his side. His face remained defiant, as Garzot followed in behind him, the sea of foulness parting before them as though they were unwelcome diplomats. As the path was made bare, a creature larger than any of them stood, rising half again higher than any other present. It was sickly thin, like a skeleton, with a scorpion tail and ragged teeth and claws. Small red dots made up eyes in its cavernous sockets, its hand clutching a great sword.

"You have come, Rhedoc Gwydion, and I must admit, I did not expect you to be so foolish," it rasped in a sickly menacing voice.

Rhedoc did not speak, he only stood like a pillar of light, something that should not be here.

"She speaks of you often, swears you will come and save her, or die trying," it joked easily, its voice taking on a playful sarcastic tone. The throng of devils roared in laughter behind him. Rhedoc's face remained stone.

"Are you going to laugh at me all day, or do we get to the part where you kill me?"

"I had thought things over before you arrived, and decided that, however foolish, your bravery would deserve a chance. We are nothing if not ordered. Lawful. You must defeat me in personal combat for any hope of rescuing the aasimar."

"I will do so, provided it is skill on skill alone. No devil tricks, no magic, just a straight fight."

"I accept these terms. You will still die, Rhedoc Gwydion."

The devils roared laughter once more. Garzot simply frowned.

III.

Sulfur and flame stung the nose in the harsh oppressive air. If there had been a sun, it would be directly overheard the circle that the baatezu had created, devils and other creatures cheering and jeering as Rhedoc stepped into the open ground. Cierra was there, suspended above the crowd in a cage of blackened iron. She looked weak, beautiful silken silver hair pouring down her shoulders as she laid there, watching sadly as the man she loved walked into his own death proudly. She was dressed only in torn rags, covering the vital parts of her body only just barely. It was hot, so very hot, and the iron citadel did not make things any easier. Sweat stood out in beads on Rhedoc's forehead, his gear set aside. All that adorned him was the smoky grey leather armor of the plane of smoke, and his two short swords. Maneuverability was key, he would never win this on strength alone.

The Osyluth moved into the circle, great sword hefted high in thin bony fingers. It roared and was joined by all the other fiends present, building into one loud maelstrom of sound. Rhedoc closed his eyes, inhaling, exhaling. It was almost killing time. He reached back slowly, tying back golden hair into a pony tail, keeping it from his sapphire eyes. It was almost killing time.

IV.

Parry, parry, spin, slash, parry, this could go on all day. Blades flickered and flashed in the light, Rhedoc moving quickly, dipping and diving in and out of blows. So far, neither had meaningfully connected to one another. The great sword swung high overhead and crashed with a loud thud into the dirt next to Rhedoc, his own off-hand blade swinging upward to glance harmlessly off of the Osyluth's hide.

He spun to one side, sure that he had avoided the next swing. Then it bit. The blade of the great sword fell hard, finding home in Rhedoc's chest. He felt three ribs cut, the blade passing easily through the bone. Blood gushed up, spewing out onto the ground, and Rhedoc tripped forward, landing on his hands and knees. It was bad, the cut was deep, through the muscle wall, through a few ribs, almost into the lung. Rhedoc gasped for breath as more blood splattered on the ground. He rolled over onto his back, head reeling.

There she was, dangling in that cage like meat. Her tears were falling freely, wetting the earth next to Rhedoc's head, her chest had stopped moving, she was holding her breath, clinging to the cage bars desperately, praying, wishing, hoping beyond hope that he could and would stand again. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Heroes were supposed to win…

He was swimming in blackness.

Nothing hurt.

Nothing was wrong.

Just let yourself go, give in…

NO.

On your feet, berk, she needs you. Get moving, ignore it, it's just blood. Spin, dive, fall, roll, keep moving, damn it, berk! Keep those swords moving! Distract him, ignore it, it's just blood, and you've got plenty. His swords moved almost blindingly fast, flickering in and out in impressive circles as he spun and weaved around. The Osyluth had no idea where to even strike, as a flurry of blows came in on him from almost every side. A few cuts went home in its body, but only from the silvery sword of Isabell Yuy.

The Osyluth fell back under the sudden and brutal onslaught of a man he thought to be dead. That's when he felt it in the nape of his neck. A prick, followed by a slight tension, followed by an explosion of pain, then darkness.

Rhedoc had swirled in behind the Osyluth and weaved the short sword up through the scales at the back of the creature's neck, slipping the full length of the blade in, popping the tip out the front of its throat, and showering the front arc of the crowd in blackened gore. Then he fell again into darkness, landing hard on the ground.