Amity Blight shouted and screamed profanities, thrashing and struggling against her captor, Halyna. She fought like a wild animal, throwing wild kicks and even attempting to bite, but the Karcist remained unfazed. Instead, Halyna offered her an oddly narrow, almost sympathetic look before brutally throwing her against the wall.
As Amity's head struck the cold surface, darkness began to creep in at the edges of her vision. Just before she lost consciousness, she cast a disdainful glance at two familiar dark figures approaching, their presence radiating malicious intent. And then, the world faded to black.
Amity sprang up with a hoarse gasp, trying to summon her magic, but no circle appeared. "What?" A puzzled look darkened her features as she took in her chaotic hair—no longer neatly tied back—and the fact that she was chained to the wall. There were no runes or glyphs on the chains to block her magic, and the surroundings did little to ease her growing dread. She was in some sort of dungeon, and skeletons were chained to the walls, sharing her grim fate.
"Rise and shine~," came a familiar, haughty voice. She turned to see—
A vein throbbed in Amity's temple as fury coursed through her. The memories flooded back—the reason she thrashed like a wild animal in the Karcist's grasp—and she vividly recalled her girlfriend having her heart ripped from her chest by the armored brute. Blood had poured, and then the heart, along with the bile sac attached to it, had been crushed under his brutal grasp.
"You… you're—" she threw herself forward only stopped by the chains and before she could unleash a torrent of curses, Vivian cut her off.
"Oh, that? We took your magic," she said with a careless smile.
"What?" Amity's disbelief was palpable.
"Need more clarification? We took your bile sac, you stupid broad," Vivian replied, glancing at her nails with a bored expression.
"What?" Horror and disbelief washed over Amity, her eyes widening.
"That's the downside of having magic dependent on a single organ: if you lose it, you no longer have it," Vivian explained, her tone almost casual.
Amity tried to deny it, desperate to hold on to hope. "But—no! You're lying! The bile sac is attached to the heart! If—"
"That's the nice thing about being a carnomancer," Alex chimed in, his voice filled with malevolent glee. "You don't always need to cut; sometimes you can just seamlessly separate the organs better than any surgical tool could hope to."
"But if it's any consolation… you were delicious," Vivian said with an unsettling grin, sending a chill down Amity's spine. She looked down in despair.
"Oh, poor thing, still grieving," Alex mocked cruelly. "Maybe we should let her have some time alone to mourn for her dead girlfriend."
Vivian nodded, a wicked glint in her eyes. "We should, husband. Then we can come back and have our fun with her. It'll make her pain even sweeter."
Their cruel laughter echoed as they moved away, slamming the door behind them. Amity was left alone, bound in chains and enveloped in darkness.
As she looked down, tears began to stream down her cheeks. "Luz… I'm so sorry…" she sobbed, grief crashing over her like an unstoppable wave. The reality sank in—her girlfriend was dead, and she was powerless to even avenge her.
"A sad thing, isn't it?" a soft voice said, breaking through her despair.
Amity's head snapped up, searching for the source.
"To lose your lover and not be able to avenge her—how tragic," the voice continued while the sound of a rattlesnake came.
"What… who… who is it?" she called out, her heart racing as she scanned her surroundings. Then she saw it: a rattlesnake with crimson eyes and black slits, slithering nearer. The creature held an unsettling intelligence in its gaze.
"My life would be, if I should take?" it hissed cryptically.
"Who… who are you?" Amity asked, her voice shaky.
The odd creature regarded her with a mischievous glimmer in its eyes. "Why, your soon-to-be friend Cotton. Call me… Jeser."
A loud groan escaped Luz as she pushed herself up. "Ugh, what happened?" she muttered, opening her eyes to nothing but pitch-blackness. She floated weightlessly in the void, disoriented and confused.
"Eh? Where am I?" Puzzlement washed over her until her memories began to surface. "Wait… did I die…?" The realization hit her like a wave, and her eyes widened in horror.
"Oh gosh, I died young AGAIN!" Panic gripped her as she frantically tugged at her hair, her thoughts spiraling like a convulsing astronaut floating aimlessly in space. "Where am I, even?! No Titan mumbo-jumbo!? Not even a bad place or a good place!? Is this… Limbo?!?" She sputtered her thoughts aloud, her voice tinged with hysteria. After a few more moments of wild flailing, she slumped against the invisible wall of the void, a deep frown etching itself into her face.
"...Man, this sucks."
Suddenly, in an ironic twist of fate, the blackness around her surged forward. Was she falling? Hurtling through an abyss? There was no sense of direction; all she knew was that the darkness was propelling her faster and faster.
"I WAS KIDDING! I WAS KIDDING! AAAAAH!" Luz waved her arms in a panic, her heart racing.
Then, without warning, the darkness gave way to a blinding light, an overwhelming brightness that engulfed everything—her, the void, and all her thoughts.
"AAAAAAAAAH—!" she continued to scream, her nonexistent lungs straining against the intensity of her fear.
Visions invaded her mind like a slideshow of mismatched memories, each lacking context.
An older woman of Middle Eastern descent sprinted forward, a dagger clutched tightly in her hand, rushing toward a towering, hairy figure standing ten feet tall. The creature had the head of a bull, adorned with a tarnished bronze crown, curled horns, tattered crow wings, and a furnace glowing ominously in its belly. The stench of clay, coal, and stale sweat wafted from it, mingling grotesquely with the dribbles of steaming spittle and foam cascading from its mouth.
"DIE, SHAYTAN!" the woman roared as she lunged at the demon, her voice filled with desperate fury.
More flashes filled her vision: a malevolent entity with indescribable features lurking behind a haunted man wearing a lab coat. His clean-shaven face was framed by neatly trimmed hair, broken lenses hanging limply from his glasses.
Images continued to flash by—ruined towns with rips in reality, floating bubbles of madness; an eldritch city of the dead ruled by a hanged king; a castle crumbling under the weight of endless locusts; a strange city built of organic materials, home to furry humanoids reminiscent of cryptid Sasquatches; an endless library filled with texts beyond comprehension.
With a startled yelp, Luz fell back onto the wet ground, her heart racing. She glanced up just as a man in ancient armor approached, spear in hand, only to scream as monstrous hands erupted from the shadows, impaling him through the chest. The sight made her leap to her feet.
When the armored man fell lifelessly to the ground, Luz faced five monstrous figures looming before her. The night and rain obscured their features, but she could still make out their horrifying forms.
A gorilla-like brute with a singular, malevolent eye.
A half-snake, half-humanoid figure, slithering forward with daggers poised.
A grotesque humanoid with multiple hands, each palm adorned with a glaring eye, and a gaping maw in its chest.
A feminine cyclopean figure, crowned with horns and bearing bat-like wings, sharp claws gleaming in the dimness.
And in the center stood the most terrifying of all: a figure wielding a staff crafted from bones, adorned with fleshy webs at the top. Clad in robes that reverberated with the imagery of rib cages, a halo hovered ominously behind its head. Four horns spiraled from its skull, bat-like wings unfurling from its back, while writhing tendrils coiled menacingly. Three glowing yellow eyes with red pupils dominated its right side, while the left boasted three grotesque mouths.
The figure's gaze met hers, and as it stepped closer, Luz instinctively took a step back. In a blink, it transformed into a serpent-like monster with four fiery eyes and a gaping maw, and before she could scream, its mouth opened wide, swallowing her whole.
Suddenly, Luz found herself in a body that was not her own, holding a man whose head fell limp from her grasp. She dropped him without a second thought, shockingly unfazed.
It was an eclipse in an ancient city, and the screams of the dying filled the air. Over her right shoulder, she saw two Goreblights with bat wings descending upon two ancient soldiers. Blood splattered as the monsters fed, one of them chewing on a severed hand. Arrows rained from above, forcing the cannibals to shield themselves with their wings as projectiles struck their flesh.
Then, a massive tendril of flesh slammed down upon the archers, crushing them and destroying the temple's top before retracting back into the chaos.
The miasma of screams and cries painted a picture of carnage against the oppressors. Luz felt a twisted smile creep onto her lips as she gazed hungrily at the beheaded corpse nearby–
Suddenly, the scene shattered like glass, and Luz Noceda jolted back, colliding with a shelf of books. Scrolls and tomes tumbled to the ground around her as she gasped, her heart racing.
She found herself in an ancient library, its dusty tomes written in languages she could not recognize. "What… in the Cirkey… was… THAT?!" she panted, breathless. After everything she'd witnessed in the Demon Realm, she had never expected to stumble upon something so disturbingly horrific. This surpassed everything she had ever seen, claiming a spot at the top of her mental list of the most terrifying experiences.
Luz turned her head and spotted a man, perhaps in his late twenties, holding a book and reading intently. He was thin—skeletally so—of Eurasian descent, and the scrawniest person she'd ever seen. He had the appearance of a typical bookworm, dressed in a brown tunic that seemed to belong in the Bronze Age. What caught her attention most were his striking, fierce yellow eyes, simultaneously defiant and melancholic.
He snapped the book closed and looked directly at her. "Good, you're here. I was beginning to think your transition was complete. We don't have much time—at least, not until the Beast shows up."
Taking a deep breath, the Latina girl let her questions spill out. "Okay… what's going on? Did I die? Is this the bad place? And WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?! … Also, who the HECK are you?"
The stranger replied in a calm, neutral voice, "You died. No, this isn't one of the realms of the damned—"
"THERE'S MORE THAN JUST ONE HELL?!" she practically screeched.
Annoyed, the man raised a hand to signal her to pause. "Can I finish? Or would you prefer we waste time until the Beast arrives while I explain the intricacies of the afterlife? Believe it or not, there are places worse than Hell. There's even a Hell for giraffes," he added dryly.
Luz sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words, then fell silent.
"Those were visions," Ion continued, "unintentionally summoned due to me plucking your soul before its transition to the other side. As for my name… I'm Ozi̮rmok Ion."
The name felt significant, heavy with an unknown weight. Luz didn't like how calm he was; his air of mystery and confidence reminded her unsettlingly of Belos.
It seemed Ion could sense her unease. "I assure you, Luz Noceda, I'm no xenophobic wretched witch hunter. Back in my prime, I was known as the Sorcerer-King of Adytum." He opened his palm, and the environment around them transformed into an ancient city, the familiar architecture evoking memories of her harrowing vision. The people bustling about seemed taller—ridiculously tall in some cases, towering even five feet over her.
"I was once a slave to an intolerant empire, the Daevites," he said, his voice steady. The vision shifted, showing abhumans towering over normal-sized humans, wielding whips to enforce their cruel authority. "I rose up and led my people against our masters, staining their monuments of pride with their blood." The images shifted again, depicting a riot of enslaved individuals rising against their oppressors armed with improvised weapons: stones, knives, and even farm sickles.
Luz felt a wave of unease wash over her. What she'd seen in those visions was far more brutal than the scenes before her now, leading her to suspect that Ion was omitting details about the bloodshed of his revolution—either out of restraint or indifference. Either way, she didn't want to irk the man responsible for her continued existence, especially in the purgatory she found herself in. Instead, she opted for a different line of questioning.
"Wait, our world? You and those things… Did you come from Earth?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. She had already had a sinking suspicion that the Goreblights and the v=cyborg did come from earth from the things they said and some having human-like ears except for some like Alexander, yet it was a whole different thing to be confirmed to her face.
"Yes," he responded simply.
"And that cyborg guy?"
"A Mekhanite. Bitter enemy of us, the Nälkä." He paused, his expression serious. "I'm afraid there isn't enough time to explain thousands of years of animosity."
Luz nodded, trying to grasp the magnitude of a rivalry that had lasted for so long. The idea of cyborgs at war with flesh crafters was somehow the least baffling aspect of her current predicament.
"But… Earth doesn't have— I may not have been the brightest in History class, but I'm pretty sure there was no such thing as a Daevite Empire!" she protested, incredulous. The thought of a vast ancient empire that had left no traces for archeologists to discover struck her as utterly ridiculous.
Ion let out a low, sardonic chuckle, as if he were an amused teacher entertaining a naive student. Luz found it somewhat patronizing yet equally fascinating. "Silly girl, you've dreamed of living in a realm of wonders." As he spoke, images materialized around them, revealing a younger version of Luz—before her adventures in the Boiling Isles—dressed in a Halloween costume as Good Witch Azura. She was playing fantasy board games while her classmates mocked her.
"Free from the enforced normalcy imposed upon you by everyone, even your own mother." The scene shifted to show Camila Noceda sitting in the principal's office, her brow furrowed in concern as she spoke with the principal. Young Luz lingered nearby, oblivious to the impending fate that lay ahead when she accidentally stumbled into the Demon Realm. The intimate details about her life made Luz dreaded; this Ion seemed to know far too much.
"Not knowing… that the world you know is a lie. A masquerade. A Stepford prison, as people would say nowadays," he continued, as the scenes changed. This time, they showcased visions even more extraordinary than she could have imagined: a sprawling city of brass ruled by ancient cyborgs in the heart of a desert, a flying fortress city soaring above the clouds, and a leviathan so massive it slumbered beneath the ocean, visible even from space. The images showed people of the Old World performing magical feats that dwarfed everything she had seen in the Boiling Isles. Starships manned by alien intelligences so utterly alien in thought and appearance that came from beyond the stars—a cone-headed race with tentacles and psychic powers that visited Earth during ancient times and dragons soaring majestically through the sky. And that wasn't even half of it.
"Are those… Bigfoots??" Of all the bewildering sights before her, that was the question that slipped from her lips.
"Vasasoonenütä, former rulers of the Earth before the Age of Mankind," he replied casually, as if this knowledge were common.
"WAIT, WHAT?!" Luz's eyes widened, her mind racing. She nearly slipped into Spanish as her astonishment bubbled over, but Ion continued speaking.
"Once upon a time, wonders walked our world like none your wildest dreams could ever imagine. But with wonders came horrors." The scene shifted dramatically, showcasing terrifying sights: a monstrous tarasque that obliterated everything in its path; dark mages sacrificing hundreds to amplify their malevolent power; predators lurking in the shadows, viewing humanity as prey; a ghastly hanged king seated upon a throne in an eldritch city that made Luz instinctively shiver; and a demon of war, insatiable in its appetite for destruction. Graphically displayed were the Daevites, pillaging and enslaving people by the masses, while others worshipped dark gods, offering their own lives to these demonic deities.
"Thus, the Coven of Reason caged these beasts, the Coven of Shadows weaponized them, while many revered the Horrors, and the Coven of Fear extinguished them. In doing so, they stagnated humanity's apotheosis under the chains of greed and ignorance, enforcing our world in their grotesque image." The images morphed into depictions of witch hunters, the Inquisition, and Knight Templars and even Allied and Axis forces during the Second World War searching for Occults in their secret war. The visuals continued to modern times, revealing secret cabals and organizations that lurked in the darkness: shadowy figures clad in uniforms covered with various symbols. Each group differed in their methods, yet they all shared the same goal—maintaining the masquerade.
"Wait, like New World Order, Men In Black and Illuminati stuff??? That nonsense that Hopkins spat about is REAL?!" Luz exclaimed, her mind racing with disbelief and confusion.
"No, I assure you, whatever crazed theories that xenophobic little man believes in are far more insidious in reality."
Images now flashed around them: a blue pentagram that was on what resembled to be the UN symbol, a small red circle with spirals, a dawning sun on the horizon featuring a single eye, and lastly, a circular emblem with three arrows pointing toward one another.
"Your mother and your stepsister have caught the attention of the Jailers. Soon, they and their cohorts will be entangled. Even then, that is the least of your worries."
Luz, understandably, did not take the news well. "Not least!? You're saying my mom and sis have been captured by the spooks, and that's the LEAST of my worries?" She threw her hands up in frustration.
"Yes," Ion replied coolly. "For the self-proclaimed gods"—he spat the word 'gods' with contempt, prompting Luz to take notice—"are returning with malignant intent, their attention is on Nethak'tal and all you know and love will be in grave peril."."
"Nethak'tal? You mean the Demon Realm." She quickly concluded, a storm of thoughts swirling. "And… by gods, do you mean the Titans and Archivists?"
He shook his head, a grimace on his face. "No, the gods of these lands are dead, but ours remain. They lurk in the darkness, glaring at mortals with hate and malice."
The images transformed, leaving Luz breathless.
"What… is…"
In the suffocating depths of primordial darkness, where the feeble light of the stars dared not tread, an unspeakable assembly of ancient and monstrous horrors convened. Their forms were grotesque parodies of life—each figure a collage of the indescribable: serpentine coils, glistening scales, and countless eyes, each a swirling vortex of malice and despair. Beneath a shroud of gloom, the air crackled with the stench of decay and the echo of distant, maddening whispers.
As inky shadows danced around them, the deities regarded the fragile world above, their visages twisted in expressions of unimaginable wrath. Tentacles slithered and undulated in the thick miasma, reaching like living shadows toward the cosmos, eager to snuff out all light from existence. Their voices—a cacophony of discordant tones—resonated through the void, a haunting symphony of despair that reverberated in the minds of those unfortunate enough to heed their call.
Amid the grotesque congregation, a central crimson figure rose, its shape in a perpetual state of flux, seemingly defying the very laws of reality. This red being fed on the fears and nightmares of all sentient life, thriving on the mortal dread that haunted the passage of time. A harbinger of destruction, it commanded the darkness below, blotting out the stars and promising an end to all that is.
Next to it was a mass of ever-shifting flesh, formless and chaotic. The very fabric of sanity trembled at its presence—a primeval entity capable of twisting, creating, and annihilating entire universes at its whim, yet consistently resulting in chaos and disorder. It promised the end of order, sanity, sentience, civilization, and promises of progress.
"The most vile of them all are the Scarlet Demon and the Godeater. One seeks the utter annihilation of our universe in every conceivable way, while the other aims to twist and mend it into its grotesque image," Ion declared, the images fading with a wave of his hand, leaving an oppressive silence in their wake.
"Why are you even telling me this? Aren't your people the ones who just attacked my friends?" Luz bluntly asked, struggling to regain her composure.
His expression darkened, the shadows deepening around his features as he continued to speak, each word dripping with increasing menace. Luz suddenly felt less safe than she had just moments ago.
"Those… traitors are not my people," he said, his voice low and fierce. "They have betrayed everything my kin and I sacrificed. Instead of becoming liberators, they have become tyrants, dabbling with tyrannical gods, petty dictators and the vilest demons. Believe me, when I return, none of those wretches will be spared!"
Any doubt Luz had harbored evaporated in an instant, replaced by a torrent of loathing radiating from him. The intensity of his contempt was palpable, and it left her with an unsettling chill.
Suddenly, a terrible roar erupted from the depths of the surrounding darkness—a sound that sent ripples of dread through her.
R̵͖̗̤̼͐̄̾̉͌̚Ơ̷̰͇͖̮͓̮͍͍̾̓̋̆̀A̶̜̬͍͌̋̅̋̐̊͆͌̒̀̅̊̔͜R̸̙͎̟̬̝̬̬̥̣̹͉̈́̑̀̃͑̾̀̇̇͒̌̚̚͝͝
The roar that erupted was unlike anything Luz had ever heard—a primal, raw cacophony that seemed to vibrate through her very bones. Even though she couldn't see the source, every instinct inside her screamed for her to run, like prey sensing the presence of a formidable predator. The sound shook the environment around her, and a visceral fear gripped her heart.
"What was that?" She looked left and right, panic rising within her as she tried to comprehend the primal noise.
"The Great Dragon in the Great Brass Cage of the Broken God, Yaldabaoth the Godeater, has come," Ion said, his voice tense. "I was hoping for more time." He turned to gaze in a specific direction, brows knitted in worry, before returning his gaze to her. "Listen to me, child. I've pulled many strings to bring you back. There won't be any more resurrections. Remember that the next time you impulsively throw yourself at an unknown enemy without a plan—otherwise, you won't be there to save your spouse." His tone was reminiscent of an old man reprimanding a reckless youth, and though she would have snarked back under normal circumstances, one crucial detail struck her with icy dread.
"My 'spouse'? You mean my girlfriend." Her heart raced, nervousness creeping in at the implications for Amity.
His mouth quirked a bit "Yes... I can sense it. Your heart and hers are two halves of the same organ, pumping with affection. To separate them with the sharp dagger of death would be to rip that organ in two, leaving a gaping, bloody tear where love once flowed."
Luz blinked, momentarily stunned by his graphic description. "That's, uh… quite an graphic way to describe romance. I'm never going to look at Valentine's Day hearts the same way again…" She felt a strange mix of concern and bemusement as she realized Ion had shattered the lovely symbolism of hearts and love, reminding her that, in reality, a heart was just a blood-pumping organ even though from his nostalgic tone it was clear that was not his intention.
"Your girlfriend is being held captive by heretics and is being tempted by one of the minions of either the Demiurge or the King in Red. I can't say for certain which."
Luz groaned in frustration. "Do I need to make a list of everything world-shattering I don't know?!?"
He fixed her with a serious look, his expression turning grave. "Do not let yourself or any of your allies be seduced by their whispers. No matter who you've been, no matter what your moral values are, no matter who you are—if you give in, you will be possessed by the ultimate evil, and it will dominate your soul. The only cure would be death."
R̵͖̗̤̼͐̄̾̉͌̚Ơ̷̰͇͖̮͓̮͍͍̾̓̋̆̀A̶̜̬͍͌̋̅̋̐̊͆͌̒̀̅̊̔͜R̸̙͎̟̬̝̬̬̥̣̹͉̈́̑̀̃͑̾̀̇̇͒̌̚̚͝͝
The primal roar echoed again, sounding even closer this time.
"Time to go," Ion said, urgency flooding his voice.
"Wait! But—AAAAAAH!" Luz screamed as she felt herself plummeting once more. "ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEEEEEE—!" Her voice trailed off into a panicked wail until everything faded, and she abruptly woke up, heart racing.
"CRIKEY!" Luz shot up, her heart racing as she took in her surroundings—a hospital room in patient clothes. "Wait… I'm alive? Not transformed into an anime monster like last time? Bummer, last time—"
Before she could finish her thought, King, Willow, and Eda bolted toward her, enveloping her in a bear hug, their voices a cacophony of relief and joy.
"I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE BACK, SIS!" King cried, his words nearly drowned out by the excitement in his little voice.
"I thought we lost you!" Willow's voice trembled with emotion as she clutched Luz tightly.
"I'm sorry, kid, it was my fault—" Eda began in her classic self-reproachful tone, but before she could finish, Luz interrupted.
"RIBS, GUYS! MY RIBS!" Luz gasped, wincing in pain as she felt the pressure against her chest which the last check had just ripped opened, but now healed albeit still wincing from the pain.
Immediately, they stopped hugging her, and apologies spilled forth.
Willow's eyes widened in concern. "We thought you were dead! Then… that weird staff thing was floating above you and shot these fleshy spider-webs attached to you!"
"The damn thing just floated by itself, breaking through the rock above! I hid it during our way to Hexside!" Eda added informing Willow fast, the tension in her voice palpable.
"Yeah, it was creepy," King admitted, visibly shaken. "That bony thing dug itself up and shattered the rock on top of its hiding place, then just hovered above you doing… things." He struggled to find the right words, clearly disturbed by their earlier attempts to free Luz from the staff. In the end, they had cautiously placed her on the hospital bed, having witnessed the flesh webs beginning to heal the wound in her chest, not daring to take the staff from her until the moment it became inert and retracted.
Luz's gaze drifted to the side, landing on the seemingly inanimate staff made of bones resting on the bed near her. In that instant, any lingering doubt about the reality of her earlier experiences vanished; they were not just tricks of her unconscious mind.
With a haunted stare, she looked back at her friends and simply said, "...Hell is real, Reality is fake, Bigfoots ruled the Earth once, and we are being hunted by the New World Order."
The group stared at her in confusion, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. She could hardly blame them for looking at her like she went insane.
"...what?" King blinked, utterly bewildered.
Ignoring his confusion, Luz's thoughts raced to something more urgent, a wave of worry washing over her. "Where… where's Amity and Gus?" she asked, her voice trembling with anxiety.
–
Away from the Boiling Isles, in a mansion constructed sometime after Alador's divorce and ominously named 'Bloodwood,' a green-haired woman stormed down a corridor, her expression a mask of fury. Accompanying her was a smaller figure with hair that resembled tentacles more than actual strands, her skin a rich shade of crimson.
"Are you certain?" the woman demanded, her voice a harsh hiss.
"Yes, ma'am," the smaller woman replied, urgency lacing her tone. "There has been a coordinated attack at Hexside, leading to Amity's disappearance and the twins being hospitalized with some sort of contagion. All reports indicate… the attackers match the exact characteristics and appearance of our benefactors."
As Odalia Blight processed the news conveyed by Kikimora, her displeasure deepened. Her benefactors had mounted an attack without informing her, endangering her heirs in the process. Make no mistake; she understood that she could simply have another child and marry someone else to continue the Blight legacy. But the thought of spending another two decades raising a new offspring was unbearable—especially as she felt the years creeping up on her. One child endangered? Fine; she could handle that. Two? Annoying, but manageable. All three? Absolutely unacceptable.
Odalia Blight was many things, but a pushover was not one of them, and she was determined to remind her benefactors of that fact.
She flung open the door to her study and marched inside. "Sulkisk! What in Titan's necrotic flesh was that!?" she demanded, glaring at the figure lounging carelessly in her chair, sipping wine from her own inventory.
"Ever heard of knocking, my dear Odalia?" Sulkisk replied, his voice dripping with mockery. "I thought the aristocrats of the Demon Realm were supposed to have manners akin to those back on Earth—well, the way things used to be." His face was obscured by a hood, only revealing his glowing yellow eyes, and he wore an intricate, tailored white suit with golden accents—an ensemble that could have reduced most medium-class families to poverty.
Odalia had only glimpsed his face once, and she would assuredly say that wearing a hood made conversing with him more palatable.
"Cut the Titan crap, you hideous abortion of nature!" she spat. "You launched an attack in the Boiling Isles without informing me, and worse, you've put all my heirs in danger! In case you forgot, I don't live for centuries—I don't have time to procreate and raise another batch of brats!"
"Everything has gone just as planned," Sulkisk said, a sinister edge to his words. "Your twins may… not survive. The other one? She is in our custody."
"And how exactly do you plan to convince her to abandon her classless mate and return to the family fold?" Odalia shot back, incredulous. "Brainwashing? Lobotomization? I want an heir, not a drooling idiot. She's already a lost cause spending time with those beneath her; one of the twins, at least, I could convince if not for YOUR multi-limbed friend infecting them with some concocted plague as if it's the Dark Ages' Bubonic Plague!"
"You've misunderstood, Mrs. Blight—no, wait, Miss Blight." He stood, unfazed by her glare boring into him. "We have no intention of returning your spawn to you."
"That was not the deal, Sulkisk," she said, her tone low and dangerous.
"The deal has changed," he replied coolly, unfazed.
"Oh, you think you're a big boy now?" she snapped mockingly. "Don't forget, you inbred troglodyte, it was because of me that your operations remained hidden! It was because of me that you were found on that miserable island—otherwise, you would have spent a very long time there, eating raw fish and crabs for every meal! Without my help, you would never have reunited with the rest of your ilk back on that dirtball humans so aptly called Earth. And what do I get for my trouble? Backed out of our deal, being plotted against behind my back, bending the agreement to your whims, and treated like an afterthought! Do you see me with my company restored? Do I have any of my ungrateful brats back as heirs? Am I any richer or closer to regaining my former status? How does any of your insipid musings benefit me? ANSWER ME, BODFEL, YOU MORONIC CAVEMAN!"
For a few seconds, an unsettling silence filled the room until Bodfel finally began to frown. He glanced back at Kikimora and commanded, "Leave us."
Kikimora was about to comply when Odalia sharply interjected, "STAY HERE! I'M IN CHARGE!"
Sulkisk placed a hand on Odalia's shoulder, his voice cool and menacing. "Are you?"
Once again, silence enveloped them as Odalia slowly turned to face him. Kikimora took it as her cue to exit, slipping out of the room.
Odalia maintained a stoic expression, though she couldn't entirely suppress the tremor in her voice. "I brought you from the wilds back to civilization, invested my riches in this—"
"And that amounts to having control over me?" he whispered, the words heavy with contempt. "Your money, resources, and influence were useful—key word: were. You? You're a disappointment to your family heritage. Your daughter, on the other hand? She has promise. If she doesn't? Well…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to an unsettling purr. "I enjoy a meal that can fight. I've heard she has skin as smooth and spotless as white caramel and smells like cotton candy." Odalia shivered, discomfort flooding her.
"What… is… this?" she managed to reply, barely containing her fear.
"I'm Archon's Reckoning, Yaldabaoth's Ur-Priest, and soon… all of this backwater realm shall know her love once more." He tightened his grip on her shoulder.
"You're… you're pure evil," Odalia gasped, writhing under his touch, paralyzed by sheer terror. Her facade of stoicism crumbled, leaving her exposed to the horror of what was about to happen.
"I'm a necessary evil," he replied with a finalizing air. He then gripped her head, his mouth opening wide to reveal jagged teeth.
The halls of the building echoed with the sounds of a scream—a cry that jolted while flesh tore and bled. Kikimora, listening just outside, felt a shiver run down her spine as the screams persisted. They grew quiet after seven minutes, but the ripping and tearing continued relentlessly for another seven. She wanted to flee, but she knew the Goreblights were lurking outside, ready to pounce the moment she tried to escape.
A squeak escaped her lips as she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped back, heart racing. Sulkisk stood before her, seemingly having teleported in an instant, blood covering his claws, bits of gore smeared across his clothes.
"Now… I trust that we won't have any problems, will we, Kikimora?"
Frozen in terror, she was too paralyzed to respond, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She simply nodded.
"Excellent," he said, a smile creeping across his face as he patted her on the head, making her squirm. "Now… Can you clean my suit? It costs forty thousand dollars, made of fine silk in Italy, and I'd rather not wear it while smelling like a butcher's shop."
Note: think of Ion's "Humble Form" that he supposedly had before becoming Grand Karcist Ion as something like Viktor from Arcane but Uralic or maybe Altaic since the original Sarkics said to be pretty much Uralic/Siberian indigenous people.
SCP-1557(Giraffe Hell)
SCP-169(Leviathan)
SCP-4715(Demon of War)
Conehead aliens with tentacles are the Orthothans.
Yes, the Tarasque is 682.