Goro’s long hair was beyond what a slave could grow. Nobody seemed to survive longer than a month or two. Chay wasn’t sure why. Humans weren’t eaten and only used for light labor. They mostly seemed to serve as a currency of sorts.
Goro had simply asked Xane for a close shave, which the mage had provided. The berserker’s baldness would grow back to a mane the moment he frenzied.
In the light of lichen-eating slugs and hypnotically blinking crystal, Chay marveled at how different a shaved head made Xane and Goro look.
The men arrived at a chute that lead up at a nearly ninety degree angle. Two large velociraptor-like Kobolds guarded the elevator.
Fortunately, their puppet had carried a semi-obol. Xane could have created illusory money, at the price of letting his baldness go, which had been plan A.
The puppeteered Kobold wordlessly put the coin into the collection bowl and the guards let them into the cage of iron.
The ride traversed dozens of miles in just a few hundred yards through the crawlway’s space bending fuckery.
Xane got bored and did little tricks, like flashing lights and a thumping bass. Too unsubtle for Chay’s mildly paranoid taste.
While the leader kept watching the distance markers on the walls, the other three had a sweaty dance party, each man vaguely careful not to rub on the other too much.
===***===
The ceiling of Jheyr’Udd was a nation of upside-down mountains. Stone arches and more precarious bridges of bone and chain connected caves within the mega-stalactites.
The pantheon emerged into a hub cavern, with four bridges leading away. Chay made their puppet walk along, across impossibly high bridges swaying within a faint, cyan aurora.
Their four dick cages began to glow under the white fundoshi, getting stronger as they neared an Overpalace — a demon-owned stalactite.
A banner between bone lanterns proclaimed it as the headquarters of the archeographic association.
“Nobody around,” Chay said. “Big G?”
Goro ripped their Kobold’s head off and tossed the remains over the edge.
Chay would have liked to let the puppet live, but not only would that compromise them, he could hardly start getting qualms about killing abyss-dwellers. They were slaveholders, looking to break through to earth, after all. Even if he wasn’t quite clear why, since there were already plenty of human males around.
He focused on the Wretcher’s castle ahead.
Wretchers were minor demons, usually living up high. Their most basic task was to catch slaves who had breached the lax security down on the ground. The Wretcher the pantheon was scheduled to see was called Dle’Shuul.
They reached a wooden gate with artful carvings, speaking to the lord’s wealth.
They were expected by a gray Drake in a leather harness.
The six foot, musclebound reptile had a ridge from head to tail and several gold rings on his fingers. A crown of red feathers covered his head.
“You’re Gallant’s lot?”
“Yes, sir,” Chay said, probing for weaknesses. This Drake felt too important for a simple bouncer-job. He had rune tattoos circling his pecs — the magic kind that sucked on your life force to deliver curses onto your enemies if it ever came to that. A demon’s work, expensive. Dle’Shuul had sent his lieutenant to welcome the pantheon.
The demigods pulled their fundoshi down to prove their divinity.
“This way.”
The Overpalace was a series of organically winding caves. Every wall was brimming with displays of ancient texts. Scrolls in proto-pandemonic, tablets of Elder runes, monument plaques of pre-schism celestial. Some rooms were more like libraries and Chay had to refrain from slipping away to check them out.
The Drake led them into a less public area.
Torches lit spiked iron grates. Some rooms held naked, well-built men, who were mostly awake but not reacting as four humans with shining crotches walked past.
They descended. Lord Dle’Shuul’s throne room was near the stalactite’s tip, surrounded by red and orange stained glass windows, looking down on a lake far, far below, glowing in a yellow-tinted light.
Thorny, terrifying looking plants grew around the edge of the irregular room. The tiled floor was littered with books and bone piles. Shelfs held flasks of sloshing substances. The air was thick with the smell of moist earth and dry smoke.
Two Hellions in dark blue robes worked on some concoction, overseen by Lord Dle’Shuul himself.
The Wretcher was tall — at the edge of the humanly possible. His skin was pure white with cracks throughout that gave him a marble-like appearance. His bald head lacked horns. With the slanted eyes and pointy ears he had something elfin, but the fangs were too vampiric for comfort.
Bat wings of the same white marbled skin stretched from his black robe.
He took one more drag from his pipe before putting it down.
“Ah, the demigods, come to destroy all our great champion has worked for,” Dle’Shuul said with a voice rumbling enough to make Chay’s crotch feel the vibrations. He blew smoke.
Chay felt his friends’ eyes on him but he didn’t know what to say.
The Wretcher laughed, the sound making Chay’s beefy thighs ache with the need to jizz.
“It’s all impshit to me,” the demon continued, “Mashmorg’s great designs? You’ll find few lords who care for them. So… let me see the damage.”
Chay gave his friends a nod. He didn’t detect an immediate ambush.
The four demigods pulled their fundoshi down again, revealing crotches so radiant, Dle’Shuul had to squint as he approached them.
The huge, pale demon grabbed Marcus by the balls and the man went to his toes with a yelp.
“Hm…” Dle’Shuul said. “Standard work. Yes, if you anger Hrailoth you’ll learn how many ways there are to inflict pain through something so small.”
He pulled more and Marcus pushed off the ground, floating to keep up with the grip. Dle’Shuul pulled until the animus-fighter was face to face with him.
“It’s been so many centuries since I saw anything like you. I’m glad you’re not my enemies but there are no gifts in the abyss. You’ll kill a rival for me. Then I help you.”
Marcus was let go. Chay walked over to place a hand on the man’s shoulder and keep him from any rash actions.
“How do we know you’ll stick to your end of the bargain?” Xane asked.
Dle’Shuul laughed again. “Simple. The rival is also a Wretcher. If you *do* kill him, I know not to mess with you. If you fail you won’t be coming back to make demands.”
They had to kill a demon? A ‘minor’ demon, yes, but Chay didn’t feel confident.
“Consider it done,” Xane said, eyes shining with an illusory red gleam.
“Yeah,” Marcus added. “The more of you we tear apart, the better.”
Chay waited until Dle’Shuul was done laughing again, then asked. “Why do you need *us* for that? There has to be a catch if the job takes *demigods*.”
Dle’Shuul shrugged. “I’d simply appreciate if Lord Fno’Xhaan was murdered. He’ll need decades to resurrect. I have business ventures to expand and he’s in the way. But I can’t be implicated. I will leave to pay tribute to lord Kshavren, who sponsors my archeographic collection. Should Fno’Xhaan die while I’m at court, who could suspect me?”