The lesson went by in a warm, comfortable haze, and Hector had learned more about spirits than he had ever thought possible. And not just spirits, either. He'd learned all kinds of things about the dead. There were revenants and ghouls, ghosts and spirits, possessed items, and walking-talking skeletons like himself. Although, Grymmbolt had assured him that the latter were very rare and, as a result, Hector was very special. The idea that she thought he was special filled him with joy, but now that she'd left the room, he wasn't sure why. What kind of spells were at work in this place? Hector was starting to feel like he didn't even know his own mind.
As the lesson had progressed, his mind had even convinced him that spending time with a couple of demons wasn't a weird or dangerous thing to do. There was definitely something odd about that.
After the classroom had cleared, Hector had stayed behind. After all, he had nowhere else to go, and he was eager to get to work on reviving Scratch. The sooner his friend was back amongst the living (or least 'living adjacent'), they could get out of this strange place.
"You did well today," Beef said, the gnome smiled and looked at him as if Hector was his favourite student. Hector couldn't help but feel a little flutter of pride. "As promised, I'll get you set up with some armour. We have a store a few doors down. When Drain returns from whatever it is he does, I'll get him to take you there. Unfortunately, I need to be elsewhere."
"Just point me in the right direction," Hector replied. "I'm sure I'll be fine by myself."
"Drain weirds you out too, eh?" Beef punctuated that with a laugh. "I have to agree that he is a somewhat acquired taste. But he's fine once you get to know him."
"If you say so," Hector replied, unconvinced. "Still, I'd really rather I do this on my own... perhaps I can hangout with Drain more once I've spent more time with him in a group... and once I'm wearing armour."
"A fair and wise choice," Beef replied. "I'll direct you to the storeroom, but I would like to try to put your mind at ease. While Drain may covet your bones, he won't do anything about it. Not while we're all part of the Shadowed Order and are working towards the same goals. We're all on the same side here, Hector."
"That is a relief to hear," Hector said, feeling absolutely no relief at all. While one should never trust a goblin, he had the feeling that one should trust a demon even less.
Beef directed Hector to the storeroom and then disappeared along another corridor. Glad to be alone, Hector went in search of armour.
The room was easy enough to find and the door was unlocked. Beef clearly wasn't concerned about any of the Shadowed Order stealing from him. In Hector's mind, Beef didn't seem the type to be overly concerned about much at all. The gnome seemed to radiate confidence and power.
Hector stood in the threshold of the room and tried to find a candle or a lantern. Even the dead can sometimes need help in finding their way around in the dark.
CLAP CLAP
The sound startled Hector, and he stumbled backwards. Collapsed on the cold floor, he looked into the storeroom to see that it was now lit as bright as noon on a summer's day. Although he couldn't see the whole room, he could see enough to know it was full of armour and other assorted supplies.
And a demon. What storeroom isn't complete without a demon?
"Ah... Drain..." Hector said, struggling to his feet.
"Drain is here to help. Ain't no candles here. You've gotta use magic. Drain will teach you. Drain is the best teacher. Way better than Grymmbolt."
"Yes, I'm sure you are... thank you," Hector said, still not daring to enter the enclosed space with the demon.
Without the others there to distract him, Hector was really able study the creature. Drain's red skin was scarred, but tough. His four arms were slim, but toned... and extremely dexterous. At that moment, the lesser demon was using them to juggle several helmets, two swords, a dagger, and half a dozen boots. All this, while still staring into Hector's soul with those unnerving yellow eyes. Hector was having trouble placing what those eyes reminded him of. They weren't catlike. They weren't lizard-like. Perhaps they were bovine-esque?
"It's fine, you can leave me alone now. Thank you ever so much for your help," Hector said, his fear making his teeth chatter, as he tried to look away from Drain's stare.
"You just want Drain to go. You want to get rid of Drain. You don't think Drain can be helpful."
"No, it's not that. I just-"
"You think Drain wants to eat you? Make you into weapons, maybe?"
Hector didn't know whether to answer that honestly or not. Luckily, he didn't have to give an answer either way as the lesser demon was still talking.
"Drain knows he ain't supposed to hurt you, so you don't need to worry. Drain knows the rules. Drain gets pain - and not the good kind - if he breaks the rules."
Hector felt a little bit of relief at that, but not enough to make him feel comfortable in the lesser demon's presence.
"I was just thinking that you might have something else that you want to do," Hector said, still hoping that Drain would leave.
"Nope. Drain has nothing to do. Drain is here to help Hector."
Drain dropped the items he'd been juggling and they clattered to the floor. The sound would have made Hector jump out of his skin if he'd had any. The lesser demon closed the gap between them, and Hector was sure he hadn't seen him take a step. It was like he floated around. It was graceful in a way.
The lesser demon grabbed hold of him, and Hector suddenly wondered if what Drain and Beef had said was true. Was he really safe? Up this close, the stench of demon enveloped him, surrounding him on all sides. A bouquet of sulphur, ash, and horror.
The demon got closer.
A long, writhing tongue appeared between sharp, yellowing teeth. Too scared to run, Hector could do nothing but wait as that tongue licked his face and head, leaving a trail of vile demon saliva in its wake.
"Drain tastes you," the demon said once the tongue was back in his mouth. "You taste like a friend."
Hector still wasn't sure if he should feel relieved. He definitely did not feel comfortable.
"Drain will find you some armour," the creature said. Hector had no choice but to go along with it.
*****
Petal stood up straight, squared her shoulders and readied herself to cast a spell. She'd cast a few spells before, but nothing as strong as this one. This was going to use all of her concentration. She took a deep breath. 'What if I do it wrong?' she wondered, the familiar anxiety gnawing at her brain. 'Guess there's only one way to find out.'
She whispered the spell just loud enough for the magic to hear. Around her, the air changed. Something was happening.
The room spun, picking up speed with every rotation. Lights flashed and filled her vision. Distorted sounds echoed from all directions. This wasn't right. This wasn't what the spell was supposed to do. Petal stumbled and felt a strong hand on her shoulder. Morga. Her new friend was helping her. Petal shook her head to clear the dizziness and felt a new resolve. She had to help her friends.
She said the words again, but louder. Her voice was filled with a confidence and authority that didn't belong to her, but she knew she had to make the magic feel like she was in charge. It was the only way to bend it to her will.
In response to the command, the room stopped spinning, and Petal's need to vomit faded. She focused on Carnage with all her might. The mutant hammer crashed to the ground with a yelp and a growl, and a sense of pride filled her. She'd done it. She'd actually done it.
Before she could truly revel in the moment, walls of noise attacked her from all directions. Having led a relatively sheltered life in the Shadow Castle, Petal didn't realise the sound was akin to that of a large crowd at a sporting event... but she did know it wasn't too dissimilar to that of a large crowd at a public execution. The similiarity made a chill run down her spine.
But she wasn't at a public execution, she was in the dungeon. There was no crowd.
The hand that had steadied her earlier pulled her backwards, and within an instant, Petal found herself inside a cell. This wasn't right. Not at all.
Petal was about to protest when she heard Morga say, "All the cells are open... and nobody looks very happy with you."
That was the thing with the prisoners in the Shadow Castle; it didn't matter how nice you were to them, or if you were always smiling, they never really warmed to the people on the other side of the bars.
"Oh shit..." Petal muttered, as she clung to her new orcish friend. At least, she hoped she was still a friend.
*****
Snarling and angry, Carnage crashed to the ground. Jolts pain shot up through him. How dare the floor try to harm him? He headbutted it with his hammer head to teach it a lesson. Cracks formed on the flagstone, the damage bringing Carnage a little taste of joy.
Using his sight-without-eyes, he took in the scene around him. He was on the other side of the cell, so his escape attempt had worked, even if he had got caught in a spell and needed to have a goblin free him. At that moment he made a deal with himself that when he reminisced on this moment in the future, he'd skip the goblin part.
He looked to Morga. She was still in her cell, even though the door had opened. That was probably the result of the goblin's spell, but Carnage decided to take credit for that too. After all, if he hadn't escaped then the goblin wouldn't have needed to do her magic shit. Carnage smiled to himself; he was a fucking genius.
Not only was Morga's cell open, but all the barred doors as far as he could see had swung open. Unsure of how he'd failed to miss it before, he suddenly became aware of a multitude of shouts. And auras.
Angry auras.
Carnage didn't understand it. These people were free, so why were they so pissed off?
Unable to solve the riddle, he growled. It looked like a fight was about to come his way. Today was his lucky day.
*****
Morga watched as dozens of prisoners stepped free from their cells. They should have been elated, but each wore a look of sheer violence. Their eyes blazed with bloodlust. Something wasn't right.
"Er... Petal... What was that spell supposed to do?" Morga asked.
"Get your hammer friend down," Petal replied. "But I fink it's gone and done a bit more than that."
"You can say that again," Morga said.
"But I fink it's gone and done a bit more than that," Petal repeated, obliging Morga's request. Morga would have rolled her eyes, but there wasn't time.
The first of the recently freed prisoners was at the open door to Morga's cell. A human man. A deep scar ran the length of his face, as if it was trying to join his eye to his chin. His clothes were dirty and torn, and it looked as if he'd slept in them for many nights. He stank like a sewer on a hot day, the stench making both Morga and Petal retch.
"What do you want?" Morga asked. The man didn't reply, but a thick line of drool dropped from his open mouth and hung from his chin like a pendulum.
"There's something wrong with him," Petal said, somewhat redundantly. "That's Gerry, he's usually a nice chap. Even if he did kill a few people."
Gerry stalked towards them, much like a sabrepanther. Morga had the pleasure of meeting those creatures once when the Red Scar Clan battled a troop of goblins in a mountainous jungle. Somehow the goblins had got the creatures to do their bidding and they were near enough unstoppable.
He grabbed Petal's clipboard, and used it to pull her towards him. The idiot goblin wouldn't let go of it.
"LET GO!" Morga yelled.
"No! It's precious!" the goblin shouted, as she tried to wrestle it back from the man.
Goblins were strong (unusually so for their size), but she was no match for this brute. Soon he had her in his grasp and he lifted her from the ground. Petal squirmed in his grip.
Then Gerry spoke for the first time. "Now you will have your punishment. Your rulebreaking has doomed us all."
Morga tried not to judge books by their covers (unless they were Hector Cluescavenger mysteries, whereby she judged them all as fantastic before even reading a word), but the voice that came out of the man was not the voice she'd been expecting. This voice was calm. Collected. Scheming.
"Boss?" Petal muttered as her lower lip quivered. In Morga's experience, goblins didn't tend to show fear, and yet here Petal was giving her a demonstration. "Boss... I... I... I... didn't mean it..."
"DOOM!" Gerry said in response. This time it sounded like there were two people talking, and Morga guessed this to be Petal's boss and Gerry himself. The second voice was as ragged as the man's clothing, and there was a strong element of panic in the word. This man believed what he was saying. Perhaps doom really was upon them.
After repeating the word once more, Gerry bashed Petal (clipboard and all) against the bars of the cell. Her head hit the iron with an almighty thunk. Unsatisfied, Gerry pulled her back and did it again. And again.
Morga saw red. It coated every part of her vision. If doom really was upon her, so was the Rage.
'Try not to kill the weird little goblin,' she thought, as she jumped into the fight.
At first, she fought with her fists and her teeth, occasionally throwing in a kick here and there for good measure. By now, other prisoners had made it to the cell and were blocking the exit, every single one of them chanting the word "DOOM!" over and over. Every single one of them more than eager to spill the blood of the goblin and the orc inside the cell.
Morga tasted blood on her tongue. It wasn't hers. It was delicious. She bellowed a warcry and it was repeated from somewhere in the crowd.
Carnage.
The hammer burst from the ground, fully transformed with his arms and legs coated in gore. Skin and rags were caught in his teeth, and they flapped around as Carnage jumped from prisoner to prisoner, using their heads and shoulders like a frog uses lillypads. Unlike a frog, Carnage's claws left cuts as deep as trenches in each landing spot. But the prisoners didn't scream. They didn't cry out. Whatever spell they were under kept them from either feeling the pain, or vocalising a reaction to it.
Morga reached for the hammer, but someone pulled him back, and he disappeared back into the mass of bodies. Frustrated, Morga took her anger out on Gerry.
"Careful! He's really not himself!" Petal said. "He ain't usually like this!"
Morga turned to face the goblin. Her fists ached with a need to pound flesh. 'Don't kill the goblin,' she reminded herself, even though the thought went against every instinct she had. She returned her attention to Gerry.
"DOOM!" he said. In response, Morga beat his face to a bloody pulp, leaving his eyelids so swollen that he was unable to open them.
"CARNAGE!" she yelled, calling the hammer towards her.
There was a sound like bones breaking. Something snapped. Something tore. The prisoner at the front of the throng jerked uncontrollably, his belly extending, ballooning to an uncomfortable size. He stumbled forward and knelt before Morga. The orc frowned in confusion.
Suddenly, there was a pop and tear and Carnage ripped through the prisoner. He snarled his most satisfied snarl.
"STOP!" Petal yelled. "STOP!"
Morga grabbed Carnage and lifted him above her head as if she was about to take a swing at Petal's skull. Perhaps she was.
'Don't hurt the goblin,' a little voice said inside her mind. 'Stay in control.'
Morga grunted, turned towards the other prisoners, and swung Carnage in an arc towards the nearest head. There was a sickening crunch on impact. Carnage laughed. Despite utterly destroying their fellow inmate's head, the other prisoners didn't react.
"How interesting," a new voice said. "That spell really does work wonders."
Morga lowered Carnage and turned in the direction of the new voice. The prisoners that still lived had parted to reveal a gnome with red hair and (what Morga considered to be) a fancy red beard, and an expensive looking outfit. He was short and slight in stature, but with the kind of pot belly that suggested he ate well and drank even better. The gnome clicked his fingers and magic sparked around his fingertips.
"Let's all calm down now," he said. "Petal, clean up this mess. Your punishment will be given once this dungeon is how it is supposed to be."
Morga looked from the gnome to the goblin. Petal's eyes were focused on something on the ground.
"Yes, boss," she said, her voice far more quiet and timid than any goblin's voice should be.
Morga and Carnage growled in unison. The Rage still had some power in it, and Carnage was in a permanant state of battle readiness.
"No, that's quite enough of that," the gnome said, before clicking his fingers again.
Everything went black.
*****
Morga awoke, although the darkness was so absolute, she couldn't be completely sure if her eyes were open or closed. Next to her, Carnage groaned. At least she wasn't alone.
Her body ached and her head pounded. This wasn't unusual after experiencing the Rage, but this time she felt something else. Guilt.
Sure, she'd killed before (many times), but she'd never killed anyone under the influence of a spell. At least, not to her knowledge. Those prisoners had no control over what they were doing. Had they really deserved to die?
'It was them or me,' she thought, trying to convince herself. 'Them or me. Kill or be killed.'
Anger boiled in her, somewhere close to the surface. Those prisoners may not have desesrved to die, but the one responsible for the spell was. Petal's boss. That gnome was going to pay for his crimes in blood. She growled in determination.
"Er... hello?" a familiar voice said. "Is someone in there?"
In the darkness, Morga squinted as if that would help her to hear better.
"Hello?" the voice repeated.
"Hector?" Morga asked, confusion and disbelief making her voice unusually high-pitched. "Is that really you?"
"Yes!" the voice replied. "It's me! In the flesh! Well, not in the flesh... I don't have any, but it's me... and I'm all back together again."
A lantern provided a warm glow so Morga could see her companion. He looked much the same as he had before he'd got dismantled, except that now it looked like he'd raided some knight's dressing up box. He wore a helmet that was about a size too big, one old boot, and a selection of armour (none of which matched). Morga got up with the intention of shaking his hand and clapping him on the back (gently, of course), but chains rattled and she was unable to get any closer.
"That's unfortunate," he said.
"Can you get me out of here? Please?" she asked.
"I'll see what I can do."
Before he disappeared, he put the lantern on the ground.
"I don't want to leave you in the dark," he said.
Morga thanked him, but she felt like the darkness had already claimed her. She'd killed innocents (as innocent as prisoners could be at any rate) and her warrior's code had been violated. It was a long journey back to the light, and Morga wasn't sure if she knew the way.
