My moment of blackout flickers away. Urgency fills my body like a thunderbolt. “Gotta move!” I groan, thinking of Overseer and the killer devils still left to fight. My eyes open, breaking through a cake of crud, sand, dried tears. Overhead, the Hell-sky is turning from green-black to puke-green. Weird crap the devils hurled up there forms its thin, black net above the sky of this baking hole of a world festering in its own stink and ruin. To my right, the horizon is a bruise over a red-eye sunrise. Featherstar’s tongue rasps over my belly. Each lick draws away some pain. Layers of healing spittle ooze into my wound. A mesh forms — knitting flesh, stopping the outward flow of blood. Mottle quivers as I fight back to consciousness. His fangs are in my neck — injecting restoring fluid through my veins. Another Mottle, Zephyr, drapes over my right arm. He’s also injecting his fluids — this time into my wrist. Zaya’s crouched beside me. She’s got her hand on my name curse. Her touch is warm, soft, electric. She must’ve flown back to me when she saw my fight with the devil leader. Keeps putting herself at too much risk. Like I’m one to effing talk.

I lever myself up. Glance around. Dead devils are strewn across the gully’s edge. Plumacats prowl among the bodies, devouring their chosen prey. Vortexes, their pained soul-warbles silent, lay derelict. Overhead, light streaks. Urdrake, still on the gully’s other side, fire their beams toward a handful of fleeing devils. Running away from them and toward me are Zel and Theri. Theri’s waving her arms. Zel’s shouting some words of concern. They’re both obviously freaked out by me laying on the ground. “I’m OK!” I try to shout toward them. My hoarse voice comes out like the croak of some giant effing frog. I’m pretty sure they can’t hear me. I turn my head, tracing the streaks of light emitting from the Urdrake’s fucking heads. Lumionous lances follow the running devils. An explosion blooms as a Vortex ruptures, hurling its devil rider about eighty feet as it careers across the Wisp Fields. I lever myself up to a sitting position. I look down, see a stain of black upon the ground beneath me. I’m sitting in a pool of my own fucking blood. “How long was I out?” I croak again.

Grimjaw, squatting on his haunches beside me, eyes scanning the destruction surrounding us, lets out a rumbling purr of assurance. “Only moments, father,” he says. “You took down the devil streak’s leader. But his treacherous spine nicked you.” He blinks his large eyes. It’s effing weird being reassured by the big predator. His tiger-like jaws drip with gore. His last devil kill. Maybe some of his last meal.

I shove myself off the ground. Zephyr releases, then flaps off to his Plumacat. The vibration he sends behind him — an exultation at my rising to my feet. I waver, grab for Perry-Fucin-A, take an orange-flavored chug of the fizzy water that keeps replenishing in my Jesus-curse bottle. I’m crazy-thirsty. The hot water isn’t as refreshing as it could be. But this is Hell. I’ll take what I can get. A moment before the flask empties, I pull it away from my lips, letting the fizzy water refill. My waist tinges with pain. I look down. My white fiery phoenix T-shirt is now covered in multi-colored crud — yellow sulfur crap, brown and purple dirt, black and red blood, the off-white mesh of Plumacat spittle. I guess I could’ve picked a color other than white for Hell. But what this fuck, this isn’t a fashion show. My wound is clearly visible through a hole in my shirt. The stuff Featherstar spat-licked over it covers and fills the broken skin and what must be a deep gash. I poke it. It’s rough on the outside, squishy and wet on the inside. It throbs with my heartbeat. As I look, I can kinda see it drawing my flesh together.

“Fucking gross! Cool!” I exclaim. I can’t help myself. Body stuff is always weird. But spit that can heal you is also pretty goddamn cool. I take a breath, drag a somewhat clean patch of my shirt across my eyes to clear them of crud, then look out across the battlefield. Five feet away from me is the devil leader’s dead body. His nasty axe is embedded in the ground ten feet away. His Vortex careened past us and now rests at the gully’s bottom. I draw my moonshadow blade from the air. It never went away. Even after I lost consciousness. My energetic vessel, continuously filling with a deluge of wisp energy, keeps it powered up. Slicing down, I rupture the devil leader’s worb. Wisps flood up the blade in a bright wash of light then shift into my name curse or shadow. A fucking hundred and forty four all come from this one devil’s worb. Sixty three bright wisps, eighty one dark. My shadow swarms. My name curse spits out a second roman candle. Three hundred and fucking nine wisps and I’m responsible for every frigging one. Eighty bright wisps, two hundred and twenty nine dark. I feel like I’m standing on a volcano of magical potential. My energetic vessel surges. I’m gonna need fucking all of it.

I turn. Dead devils are all around. This devil leader’s force of about fifty — destroyed. Its scattered remnants are falling to a nearby barrage of Urdrake light flashes. Further off, I can see more lights lancing through the dawn. Zorfang’s force is still raining his laser-like volleys on the scorpions. One is derelict, burning. The others are wandering, hurling their massive Hell balls in random directions. The small force of about ten Vortexes that surrounded these scorpions are further off, fleeing back toward Overseer Tower. I pump my fist in the air. “Fuckin A! Zorfang did it!”

My eyes follow the retreating Vortexes. In the new light of Hell’s dawn, I can see them making toward a bridge overwatched by wicked towers. The bridge crosses a wide and gaping chasm. Its dark inside — full of creeping shadows. Sunken Crag is what Theri and Zel called it. Looks crazy-nasty. On the bridge’s far side, the faint outlines of more lumbering scorpions waver through a pollution haze of Vortex exhaust. The rest of Overseer’s might on its way to crush us. Dropping my eyes, I shift focus back to my immediate surroundings. A few prone bodies of Plumacats and Mottles are scattered among the dead clusters of devils. My heart makes this jarring lurch as I absorb the losses. They call me father. I feel like a father. In a way I am. My magic and Zaya’s gave them this desperate new life.

I turn to Featherstar, lay a hand on her heavily-muscled shoulder. Her feathers rustle beneath my touch. They’re both tough and soft. A mix of down and armor. “Featherstar,” My voice chokes despite my efforts to keep it clear. “Gather the wounded and dead. Tell the wounded to shelter in this gully.” I point down and behind me. “Leave two Plumacats and a Mottle to help them. Have these three also set aside our dead. Separate from the devils. I also want them to collect the devils’ worbs. We’ll free those wisps and honor our lost when we win this.” I’m trying to convey confidence. I’m pretty fucking certain we’re unlikely to win. But there’s no way we’ll win if we don’t believe. Zephyr lands on Featherstar, they leap-fly off, gather with a cluster of joined Mottles and Plumacats, then disperse to get it done.

By the time Featherstar’s returned, I’ve made a rough assessment of our present state. Looks like we have seven dead and six wounded. Minus the three I’m leaving to take care of our casualties, that leaves us with sixty three Mottles, Plumacats, and Urdrakes, including me, Zaya, Theri and Zel. Zorfang’s thirteen still seem to be going strong. So our total effective force is seventy six. Peering out beyond Sunken Crag, the movement I’m glimpsing hints as hundreds.

Zel and Theri clamber up the gully to me. “You all right?” Zel asks. “We saw you go down. Looked pretty bad.”

“I’ll live,” I reply with a half-smile. “For now.”

“That’s a relief,” Theri says, then reaches a hand out to pat my shoulder. She seems to be assuring herself I’m still live and in the flesh.

“Thanks for the worry.” I say, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. I motion to the apparent horde of devils in the distance. “When we decided to start a rebellion against Overseer, I didn’t realize we’d be taking it all on in just one day.”

Zel laughs nervously and scratches a horn. Theri simply shrugs. “They’re pretty militarized. Plus they probably sensed your magic. That got them really riled. Then, well, we did this.” She motions around her at the carnage. “You linked up with a Vila and raised an army of forbidden forms. Not only is that incredible. It’s something that’s not happened in Minos for hundreds of years. Yeah. They’re riled.”

“Indeed they are,” I say.

“You got a plan?” Zel asks. “You gotta have a plan.”

“I’m pretty sure you asked me this before.”

“That was like minutes ago. Things change quick.”

This makes me laugh. “I always have a plan,” I say as I continue to scan the devil force. It’s mostly true. Mostly. What’s more true is I’m always coming up with hair brained ideas. But I gotta project confidence. I look down at the fucking Vortexes. I’m concocting another right about now. Yeah. We’re probably gonna need those awful things again. At least for a hot minute. “Speaking of… Do you know how many devils that fucking tower can throw at us?”

Theri turns back toward Overseer. “Maybe five hundred or so. Though I bet they’ll keep back a tower guard of about a hundred.”

“So you’re saying we’ve got like three hundred of those fuckers coming at us now? Complete with more scorpions and Vortex riders?”

Theri shrugs. “Probably. That’s the more or less of it.”

Holy Jesus fuck! I grit my teeth, biting back my curse. “Right. Well that makes my decision easy then. Featherstar!” I shout hoarsely to my Plumacat leader. She pads over. The other Plumacats have finished their victory feasting. The Mottles on their backs are quiet. My team of nine Urdrake scrabble up from the gully. “Good, I see I’ve got everyone’s attention.” I motion to the derelict Vortexes. “It looks like we’ve managed to capture about thirty five of these working nasties. I want everyone to grab one. Pair off. Mottle — I want you to share my learning about Vortex riding with the other Mottles. Then have them share that thinkum with everyone. Do it all in five minutes!” The Plumacats and Urdrake pad off to collect the bikes. I’m concerned about the Urdrake’s hulking forms, ungainly hands, and stubby legs. But with the Mottles helping, maybe my Urdrake can ride.

It takes them about three minutes to gather the thirty three working bikes. If we all pair off with a Mottle, that still leaves four behind. I turn to Grimjaw. “We don’t have quite enough. That’s OK. Your scouts are quick when teamed with Mottles. I want your six to follow us. But be fast!” I glance over to the scouts. They’d been fortunate and not suffered any losses.

“Yes father!” Grimjaw growls, then turns to his group of hunters. They line up. Ready. His response is pretty enthusiastic. Where he seemed to look down on me about an hour before, he now appears to have cemented his trust in my leadership. I’m guessing him watching me kill that devil leader in single combat might’ve clenched it.

I walk up to my chosen Vortex. It’s got devil’s blood splattered all over. My headache starts up again the moment I hear those poor souls wailing in the foul machine’s worb combustion chamber. I’m not happy about the damned stinking thing. But we need to move fast and this is all I can come up with. We’ll have to learn to do something else in future. I hate these machines fucking fierce. I jump on, turn to my company. “Mount up! We ride to those scorpions!” I shout, pointing to the machines careening back and forth about four miles away.

My company clambers onto the Vortexes. They’re awkward at first. The Urdrakes stumble. A few topple off, remount. Their Mottles stretch bodies wide to help them balance. If things weren’t so urgent, it’d be comical. Kinda like a bunch of mini Godzillas trying to ride a kid’s bike. At last, after about a minute of scuffling around, we’re off. The worb’s howls rip at my ears. I grit my teeth. We’re maybe six, seven minutes away at this pace. As I ride, I drag my hand through omnis scientia. Zorfang’s no longer huffing. He’s stationary just north of the Razor Hills and about five miles south of those scorps in the Wisp Fields. I guess he needed to take a breather. “Zorfang!” I shout through the sensor.

“Yes father!” He harooms.

“Stop shooting at those scorpions! Looks like you got ’em! More nasties are coming at us from Overseer! I want you to move northwest! Get back into some hills and keep an eye on the bridge crossing Sunken Crag! It’s that big bridge to the north crossing that massive canyon! I might send someone to help you in a bit! Now get going!”

“We move!” Zorfang shouts.

Four victories against the devils so far. But the big fight’s still ahead. I focus on keeping my motley crew together as we angle in toward the scorpions. Glancing over at the horde of devils boiling out of Overseer in the hot Hell dawn, I crack a half-grin. The bastards must be really freaking out about now. Let them.

********

New day falls hot on an Overseer Tower trembling with the force of Regina Rouge’s rage. The two Dark Psychics, one balled on the floor, flayed and burned by the lash of her scourge, the other quivering in fear, are useless. Too blinded by religious zeal to give her an accurate report on this impossible mage. The pair of doltish guards at the door, casting their emotionless stares out and past her, only annoy her further. A simpering Uktena — Trandix — whirls its red serpent body through the air about twenty feet off, too cowardly to face her. She wheels on Reiza, the second Dark Psychic. Her Holocaust Scourge roars with heat, withers the air, her worb crackles as it grinds down scores of souls to power it. She drinks in the wisps’ pain, revels in Reiza’s terror. Paltry balm.

“Now, Reiza…” she says as she caresses the Dark Psychic’s long, thin horn. It is delicate. Like an antenna. So easy to break. And yet sensitive, capable of channeling wisp energy, of projecting senses far, of seeing through the eyes of other Dark Psychics. “… Show me how this mage defeated my Lavross. Your vision will not flinch. You will supply better answers. Or…” she looks down at Orloxx.

On the ground, in a pool of his own blood, Orloxx whimpers. His pained convulsions cause scorched skin to crackle. The sweet smell of his half-cooked flesh rises to Reiza’s nostrils. He doesn’t dare look down at Orloxx. There’s no help for him. Whether Reiza shares his fate hangs on the whims of the enraged Regina. Reiza takes a breath, extends a hand to Regina. “As my Lady directs. Take my hand and embrace the Web’s darkness. Travel to see what Asmodeus’s threads have witnessed,” the ancient ritual provides comfort. Its words, spoken countless times throughout his order, provide a brief illusion of normal. His horns buzz as his worb grinds out the soul energy needed to power his diabolical magic.

Regina flicks her scourge at him. Flames tease over his skin. His worb’s innate defenses bend back. He lets out a whimper as pain shoots through him. He knows there’s nothing he can do to prevent Regina from lashing him down into a smoldering lump. His order will petition Asmodeus to punish her for mistreating Orloxx. But it will do him no good if she also turns her scourge on him. So he ignores the pain, then grinds down his captured wisps again. In their outcry, he begins to conjure the Asmodeus-blessed vision of the Web.

Regina, at last satisfied Reiza will try to act as commanded, accepts the vision. But instead of taking his hand, she tightens her grip around his frail horn. Reiza gasps at this personal violation, glances down at Orloxx, says nothing. “Now show me!” Regina commands.

The Dark Psychic’s worb wails. Cries of captive souls and a flood of devil-magic washes over them, casting their senses into the great Minosian Web. A filigree of connections spreading between thousands of Dark Psychics scattered over Minos, this Web carries the sight of Asmodeus and his Hell Lords out across Hell’s lands, over waters, through its skies, even crossing time. The strands of energy running between each Psychic drink up surrounding events like a world-spanning eye. The Web is also the heart of the Dark Psychics’ faith. In which their made-Web and its informant-devout grants Asmodeus god-like omniscience — placing them both as his priests and as arbiters of reality on Minos.

Regina, guided by such a Dark Psychic, allows her senses to be pulled back in time along the Web. Lets this fanatical devotee of Asmodeus bring her sight to the pre-dawn Wisp Fields. They stare down on a gully. Watch the flashes of magical sparks shooting out from the mage, glowing brightly, blinding Talith’s Lance.

“Closer,” Regina commands. “I want to see that mage up close and personal. I want to breathe his breath. Smell his air. See his magic flow! Now do it!” Orloxx had brought her back to this point. Then, for some reason, the fanatic turned into a blithering fool. Refusing her commands, he backed out. The punishment she gave for defying her orders was the least that he deserved. He’d cost her precious time as moments bled by. She turns her furious spectral gaze, cast out through the Web’s structure, onto Reiza.

The Dark Psychic feels the heavy force of her anger through the Web. He rushes to obey. Reiza begins to focus the Web to bring their view closer. Flinches as he sees the mage, then freezes. “It is not possible! This is Blasphemy!” He cries.

Regina tightens down on the Dark Psychic’s horn. “Stop your limp-brained bleating. Now, show me what Orloxx would not. Show me what he was too weak and fanatical to reveal, or so help me I will burn you to a cinder,” Regina commands.

The pain in Reiza’s horn as Regina grips and twists jars his connection with the Great Web. The spirit of Asmodeus flowing through its strands around him flickers. In front of him, the impossible stares him directly in the face. It spits at him — defiling everything he thinks he knows. Yet unlike Orloxx, Reiza isn’t willing to die for his dogma. He grits his teeth, lifts his hand, then allows the Web to carry Regina’s sight closer.

Regina gasps as she sees the little mage. A girl! Her mage energy not even yet fully formed. Sparks fly from a sigil on her arm. An impossibly large wave of magic bursts out. It washes through the Web. Leaving her stunned for a moment. Again, Regina cannot understand how the mage is displaying so much power. Again, she feels a great, gnawing hunger to possess this grand wisp. She focuses her sight on that wisp and… RECOILS. The girl’s wisp is certainly large and powerful. But it does not account for all the magical energy she’s emitting. Not even a fraction. As Regina pushes forward, she can see that wisp interlaced with a great internal structure running out from an illegible sigil in her arm. It creates, inside her, something like a full-body worb. But this worb is just a vessel. It contains none of the grinding structures devils use to milk wisp energy. Within this worb are numerous wisps. They are prey spirits from Earth. Regina’s eyes shift and she sees the girl’s shadow. Inside are various prey wisps and then she sees them — devils’ wisps! The girl has captured both prey wisps and devils’ wisps together. Their energy is feeding a massive vessel of energy shaped like a great chalice beneath the girl’s own larger wisp. From this, she flings the powerful explosions of magic Regina is now watching.

Regina doesn’t know how to process what she’s seeing. “That girl is a devil and a mage? She uses something like a worb?” She asks Reiza. “Is this what Orloxx couldn’t show me?”

Reiza foams at the mouth. His spectral body along the Web twitches. “It is not POSSIBLE,” Reiza proclaims, his eyes rolling in madness. “This sight is a blasphemy!”

Regina’s gut churns. She feels an unexpected tinge of sympathy for the Dark Psychic. All in Hell were devoted to Asmodeus, fanatical in the belief that devil-kind are exceptional due to their worbs. That worbs grant them the special privilege of preying on and profiting from the souls of lesser beings. Yet this mage — supposed to be the most desirable of devils’ prey — used something like a worb not for predation but for protection.

“Show me more!” Regina commands. The sight is gut-churning. Sets off a cascade of fear that runs through her in a novel jolt.

“You do not want to see. The wrongness!” Reiza is arching back, rebelling against what he senses further down the Web. Regina’s flick of her Holocaust Scourge in response is almost half-hearted. Reiza, propelled by another wave of pain, at last relents and pushes their Web-meshed senses forward in time. Regina watches the mad play of the girl’s wisp magic combine with the assault of forbidden forms — Plumacats, Mottles — and a pair of Blue Devils to slay Talith’s Lance. The display is brutal, stunning. Plumacats devouring dead devils on the lands they rule, the mage defiling worbs with her obscenly powered sword of light and shadow. An excess of wisps flooding back out, free. Then, Regina flinches as a Vila flies up to the mage, touches her hand in what looks like a lover’s caress, then draws deep from the mage’s housed wisp energy.

“That Vila is using wisps!!” Reiza rants as the sending from the Web freezes yet again.

“I can see that you moron! Now shut your mewling mouth and show me the rest!” Regina doesn’t have to flick her scourge again. Reiza’s flesh is already raw and pained from the first gentle lash. She can smell the fear rising off him. For once, she praises Asmodeus for the cowardice of her subject. With hands balled and eyes closed, Reiza pushes the vision forward. The Vila drinks deep from the mage’s magic. Thunderbolts rise around them as the Vila shapes more than forty forbidden forms from the wisps ripped out of the devils’ and Vortexes’ worbs. All in an instant! Some wisps still remain. Ten of these are from the dead devils themselves. With a shout and another flash of lightning, the Vila transfers these wisps into the worb-like structures within the mage’s shadow.

The vision continues, as devastation orbs from Regina’s scorpions begin to rain down and the mage gathers her force to flee.

“Enough!” Regina says. “I have seen enough!”

Reiza whimpers in relief as he backs them out from the Great Web. She lets go of him. He crumbles to the floor, simpering. “Thank you Lady. You are merciful.” He doesn’t sound at all sincere. Regina doesn’t care. Her thoughts are whirling.

“That mage. So young. Not even ripe for the plucking. Her wisp, still not full-grown. And yet she possesses a thing like a worb that lets her take wisps,” Regina whispers.

“Blasphemy! Great Asmodeus, it is Blasphemy!” Reiza shouts as his body lurches back and forth on the balcony floor. The guards’ gaze, which was set far off, now falls directly on Regina. Their faces display naked horror at her words.

Regina ignores them. To keep control of the situation, she must know the actual facts. Succumbing to the comforts of belief right now could be lethal. Letting her subjects steep in their shock and denial, she paces back toward the balcony as she speaks. “Some of these wisps are devils. So she even captures us.” The words sound so odd, so foreign, spilling from her mouth. But she can’t stop herself from talking. This discovery compels her with its awfulness to continue. “The mage holds wisps without hurting them. The wisps give energy freely to help her. A Vila uses the mage’s wisp energy to make forbidden forms — en masse.”

Those on the balcony with her are stunned into silence.

Regina looks out over the Wisp Fields. Beneath her, Dressler’s three Centuries have formed and are moving out toward Sunken Crag. Beyond, Lavross’s force lays ruined and defeated. A Lance of Vortexes fleeing back toward Dressler and four defunct scorpions — all that remains. “Now I know how she beat them.”

Trandix flies down to her cautiously. “My lady, if I may suggest, perhaps we should send word to Lanthver?”

Regina whirls on Trandix. “Why would we ask for aid from our chief rival? He’ll only exploit our weakness.”

“He is closest. The most likely to reach us should we…” The Uktena trails off. Surprisingly, his hint at a possible defeat doesn’t anger her. Regina considers.

“Ready my carriage,” she says at last. “If Dressler fails, we shall not throw ourselves on the mercy of Lanthver. We will instead retire to our estates in Mechanum where we will petition Asmodeus himself. This mage is…” She chooses her words carefully. “She represents a threat to all devil-kind. Hell’s High Lord must know of this. In the meantime, we shall ensure that we do not need to withdraw. That we…” she pauses again. “That we capture her and take her to Asmodeus ourselves for a gift. A prize.”

Those on the balcony continue to stare at her silence. The relinquishing of a mage wisp to another, even to Asmodeus, is a rare event. Yet Regina knew what they yet did not. This mage is too young to be taken. An unformed wisp like hers would not yield the same power in a worb. And the power she commanded was mostly not her own. The mage had stolen it from its rightful overseers — the devils.

“No. We shall cow this interloper. She shall bring her to heel. We shall present her to Asmodeus as our gift. When we do, we shall be celebrated as heroes across Minos!”

“It shall be so, great Lady,” Trandix hisses.

“Then go. Prepare my carriage.” Regina turns to Reiza. He’s finally standing again. Only lightly burned, he seems to have gathered himself well enough. “And you — send to Dressler. Tell him that our mage is a girl whose wisp is only aged seventeen years. Still unripe by its scent. Tell him to slay all her companions, then to bring her to me in chains. Tell him also that she has a Vila and the ability to rapidly increase her numbers. That she will assault him with a large group of forbidden forms. About eighty now. Possibly double that if she uses the wisps she finds.”

Reiza grits his teeth and closes his eyes against these uttered blasphemies. “And shall I tell him how the mage does this?”

“No. No need to disturb Dressler in his work. If he asks, just say that she uses a novel form of curse magic.”

“Thank you, Lady,” Reiza says in relief.

“Very well. Then do it.”

Reiza begins to close his eyes to access Asmodeus’s great web. It seems somehow defiled to him now after the horror it just bore witness to.

“Oh, and Reiza. Tell Dressler not to fail me.” She motions to the prone form of Orloxx, now still in death. “I will not take failure of any kind against this mage lightly.”

********

Dressler rides his gilded Vortex amidst the great gathering of Overseers forces. Its twin worbs wail with an excess of gathered power. His own worb swells with inky tendrils of dark power. In his hand, a spear of Hell glass. An obsidian colored metal mined directly from the heart of Infernian volcanoes.

Around him mass three Centuries. Each devil under his command torn from their frantic wisp harvesting efforts and shifted suddenly to an equally frantic response to a mage’s attack. The notion of a mage attacking a stronghold like Overseer Tower rankles. Mages are hunted. They are prey. Certainly strong prey capable of resisting. Yet they were unable to stand against the might of Hell. Made to flee when faced with the overwhelming force of Asmodeus’s power — his Curse Riders, his mighty millions upon millions of devils — each commanding the diabolical magic of multiple enslaved souls housed and bound within their worbs.

Not this mage. This mage. This girl, if the servile Dark Psychic, Slevelth, riding beside him were to be believed. Somehow, she’d gathered together a large force of forbidden forms. Somehow, she’d managed to use them in a coordinated series of attacks and ambushes to annihilate Lavross’s Century in a rampage through the Wisp Fields. Dressler knew well the dangers presented by forbidden forms. He was old enough to remember their attacks and the rebellions that spanned Minos for hundreds of years following Asmodeus’s first rise to Hell’s throne nearly three thousand years ago. Their attacks were brutal. Dressler blinks as he remembers the devils slain by the thousands. Consumed as Plumacats, Urdrake, Mottles, Vila, Bowflits and other, rarer forms lashed out against Asmodeus’s new dominion. Back then, there were no mages. Now, a mage had somehow taken command of these ancient enemies.

“Regina and Reiza touched the great Web,” Slevelth drawls. “They say the mage commands around eighty forbidden forms. They say she has a Vila and that somehow she can make more of them. Regina says to expect up to a hundred and sixty or more by the time we engage.”

Dressler scoffs. Slevelth has been blithering on like this for about five minutes. Half of what he says sounds like raving. “She says there is only one Vila?” He asks the cleric evenly.

Slevelth blinks his toad-like eyes, smacks his fat lips, seems incredulous. “Indeed. That’s what I’ve been telling you. It defies everything we know to be true.”

Dressler nods. “Perhaps our dear lady has taken some leave of her senses in the face of this unprecedented catastrophe.”

Slevelth extends a hoary finger covered in golden rings to his mouth as he considers. “Reiza wouldn’t intentionally misrepresent…”

“Yes. But this is battle. First reports are often confused.” Dressler snaps. He runs a hand through his blonde crop of hair sprouting up from glossy red-black skin, then tips his horns toward Slevelth indicating a deference to this cleric’s station that is lacking in any sincerity. “Your great Web may be perfectly accurate. But what others see through it is still subject to interpretation.” Dressler had been on the wrong end of the moronic clerics’ ‘interpretations’ numerous times in the past. He often found what the Dark Psychics saw and shared simply reflected their own biases.

“True,” Slevelth answers, scoops a bit of meat from between his teeth, considers it, then flicks it away. “Though I do not understand what would make Regina or Reiza give such reports. If inaccurate, they are vile blasphemies.”

Dressler pauses. “Yes. But fear of death in battle is often fodder for insane utterances. We shall work with what we know. If a scout can confirm these reports of sudden mass generation of forbidden forms, then we will act accordingly. Until then, let us not be paralyzed by fear of a phantom force that does not exist.”

Slevelth licks his lips, smacks them, draws a living squibble from the vat sloshing about on a chain hanging from his bulbous waist, shoves it into his mouth, bites down on the delicacy. “You are the battle commander…” CRUNCH, “…for a reason. I defer to your…” CRUNCH, “…illustrious experience.” Slevelth has made speaking with his mouth full a kind of grotesque performance art. Dressler had long-since grown used to averting his gaze from the spectacle of masticated bits of various creatures swirling around Slevelth’s words.

Dressler gives a stiff nod. “We shall take the Wisp Fields,” he says to Slevelth. “Send Gormak’s Century out ahead toward the rebels’ main group to the south. Only Vortexes. Keep his scorpions with the command base here. Tell Gormak to fix those rebels in place. Ready all our scorpions to destroy Lavross’s derelict scorpions once we get in range. Then have them hurl a suppression spread against the Urdrake near the Razor Hills. I want a flight of Uktena to ride ahead with Gormak. When he closes, I want them to jump in and use their poison bites to incapacitate the mage and her Vila. Then do the same with any others in the rebel command. Keep them alive for questioning. Kill the rest. Forward!” He says the last with a salute.

Slevelth rolls his bulbous eyes back into his toad head as he dutifully relays Dressler’s orders. Gormak’s Century roars off toward the bridge crossing at Sunken Crag. Dressler keeps his command center in the cluster of twelve scorpions. Around him swirl two Vortex Centuries held in reserve. Once they cross Sunken Crag, he’ll deploy these on the mage’s flanks. Dressler grudgingly admits this girl mage had surprised them so far. But now that her hand is revealed, her forces visible and counted, there is no escape for her. No way out.

“And Slevelth…”

“Yes, Overseer Dressler,” Slevelth hisses around the slobber in his mouth.

“If you will consult your Web to confirm the mage’s numbers. To make sure she doesn’t have any more hidden surprises, that would be most helpful.” Dressler doubted there was much truth to Regina and Reiza’s fearful ravings. But the mage had somehow concealed a sizeable force in the Wisp Fields and Razor Hills. Perhaps Slevelth could provide him with more reliable information instead of these rumors and ravings coming from Overseer. Not that he blamed Regina. Forbidden forms were well outside the context of such a young Hell Lord. Even the older devils, like him, retained only faded memories of those earlier, troubled years of Asmodeus’s first reign.

“Indeed, consider it done. All for the glory of Asmodeus.”

“For the glory of Asmodeus,” Dressler says evenly.

********

Corviss crawls, mostly blind, through the hot sands. Minutes before, he heard the loud Vortexes rush by. Saw Lavross out of the corner of one eye. Tried to jump. Landed in a nearby mound of scree. Now, with Lavross nowhere his Urdrake-ruptured senses can detect, he curses as he scrabbles toward the scorpions.

“Lavross!” He hisses despondently. At least the great machines are still lumbering toward him. He pops up onto a rise, spins his head to bring the great machines into his peripheral vision, then quivers in fear. No longer moving toward him, they lurch under a barrage of flashes coming from the Urdrake. The beasts must be closer now to effectively bring their heating and blinding rays down on the machines and their devil operators. Corviss can barely make out a smaller group of Vortexes beneath the scorpions. He’s gathering himself to scrabble toward them when they turn tail and flee.

“No!” Corviss hisses in despair. Then, in the distance, he hears the sound of approaching Vortexes. Glancing again at the scorpions, Corviss sees that Urdrake barrage has stopped. Did Lavross defeat the mage? Corviss spins toward the approaching Vortexes. They are loud. Numerous. It must be Lavross. Who else could it be?

********

I drive my stinking, wailing Vortex at the head of my motley formation. We shoot away from the gully and its carnage. The Wisp Fields surround us. Zaya, sitting in my lap, is drawing in what wisps we come across. They trail behind in a swarm of lights. About thirteen. But more join with each passing minute. My energetic vessel’s again past half full. I’ve got a big jolt coming in from all the extra wisps now huddled in the protective magic provided by my name curse from my battles along the gully. The three hundred and nine blaze like a liquid sun within me. There’s gonna be literal fucking Hell to pay for those devils at Overseer once I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do with all this extra magic.

Our company of awful, wailing, headache producing, lung wrecking Vortexes steadily closes in on the scorpions. They stumble about like confused monsters who’ve suddenly lost whatever terrible will impelled them. One lays smoldering on the ground. I can see their crews now. They scramble back and forth, doing this weird, blind man’s bluff, series of movements as they fumble at controls or turn in disoriented circles. Some lay still, shot down by the Urdrake lights even at extreme range.

We’re running in toward the scorpions from about two miles off when I hear a yowl from a Plumacat as it angles off from our company.

“What the fuck?” I say to myself, then shouting louder after the Plumacat, I yell — “Stick together!”

The Plumacat ignores me. I recognize it as the ornery Rarhquick. Go figure. It’s a fucking cat… velociraptor… bird… thing… You get the picture. Shooting out to the left about three hundred yards, the errant Plumacat stops, leans down, then picks up something that looks like a flailing red ribbon. I don’t know what I’m looking at for a second and then I realize it’s the fucking flying red snake I had the Urdrakes shoot at earlier. It must be. It’s covered all over in scorch marks. With a giant, fang-filled, grin and what I imagine must be a gigantic purr, the Plumacat mounts back onto its Vortex, then races toward me with his prize held high.

“What’s going on?” Zaya says to me from where she’s crouched between my arms as she peers out to look at the Plumacat.

“Goddamn,” I reply. “I think we just captured our first effing prisoner.”

(New to the Helkey multiverse? Haven’t yet read the first chapter? You can find it here: Helkey 1 — The Memory Draught.)

(Looking for another chapter? Find it in the Helkey Table of Contents.)

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