Shadow of the Abyss

Chapter 193: Festival of Chaos: Devil's Deal

The ice that had covered the streets began to wane, disappearing into a clear liquid and soon vaper following the Baelfire that blazed from off of Tasha's curvy figure. The flames burned and iridescent violet, tainted by shrieking tongues of black.

"You must die…" said Tasha so loosely it echoed without much vigor. Her eyes were upon the Prince as he stood still, his palm dripping with the might of the Vale.

"Perhaps," the young Prince remarked. He glanced at Ren, signaling to her to protect him while he dealt with Tasha or, rather, Astaroth. "You'll not kill me. No, you're not stupid. Are you oh Prince of Hell." there had been a sort of mockery in his voice as it echoed past Tasha's mind into Astaroth.

"Aria's soul is indeed within my possession. Quite a soul she possesses," he said, teasing a half smile upon his lips. "And as you can see, the souls of those I kill are being devoured by me."

The flames lessened over the lands, allowing the cold to enter.

"Yes, quite a soul, this Aria Silvermane possesses. But I am… what's the word willing to parlay?" He smirked as the flames vanished outright. Thanatos and Zagreus came to his side, guarding his being against unwarranted attacks. "Or I could, you know, offer a prayer to the Sepith. To grant them her soul."

A voice that was not her own tore from out of Tasha's windpipes. "The Sepith would not deal with one so bloodthirsty."

"Perhaps not. But what about other Fallen watching? I'm sure they are curious about dear old Aria." Altair remarked, resting Shadowclaw on his shoulder. An image of a wolf cornering his prey surfaced through his mind.

'Asteroth had revealed his hand quite early in this game,' he thought. 'Commanding a devil after him, seeking to descend. He was desperate.'

The grueling voice spoke from out of Tasha, "What do you propose?"

"hmmmm. I will loan you Aria. She'll be one of my shadows. Just like Aurora here."

The possessing spirit of Astaroth glanced at the gray-skinned beauty, who shot him a wink.

"Bastard… you'd give me your thrall?"

"They are no thrall," said Altair, frowning. "Those I kill are reborn through my power as sentient beings with their own free will."

"Save your idealistic bullshit for yourself." Astroth intoned but went silent nonetheless. The situation was less than ideal for his liking. However, Altair had proved that he possessed Authority over those he killed, unlike anything a Fallen like himself had ever witnessed.

To claim a soul that had been rightfully his… was unheard of. Demons had only two masters. Lilith, the Mother of all Demons and Devils and the Fallen of the Hells. But somehow, Altair had them beneath his command… his thrall.

None of that sat well with Astaroth. He had to admit he underestimated the boy. However… wasn't this also a chance?

Astaroth found his smile. "You are either brave or ignorant, perhaps both. Hand me the girl. And I will allow you your life."

The Prince gave a smooth smile. "Give you? I think a trade is in order, don't you? I do enjoy my life, but I'm not really concerned about a devil, of all things killing me. As with many children of the Old Gods, we all have resources to use in order to escape, right?"

Zagreus was smiling at the shit spewing from out of Altair's lips. The boy had no type of escape plan or life-saving treasure, though he supposed Tenebrae might have added a few to his soul. What mother with her resources wouldn't?

Altair lifted Shadowclaw. "Inscribe my blade with the infernal Runes of Mythos." he glanced at Beelzebub, the Lord of the Seventh Hell, and so too did Astaroth.

"bastard," hissed Astaroth beneath his breath.

"When you create the spine, please don't skimp out. The last thing I need is to know that a Prince of Hell…the Creator of Time, lacks in the most basic knowledge of inscriptions.

It was then that Altair's pupils contracted. 'How did I know Asteroth was the creator of time?' he wondered with a foreboding premonition.

Both Astaroth and Beelzebub were staring at Altair curiously. That information had been lost since the dawn of time. Few records still existed about that miraculous feat.

Neither of them spoke of the matter, seeing it wasn't the time nor the place.

"Fine," said Astaroth calmly. "just hand me the girl."

"Oh, and take her knight to—"

Tasha snapped, and in a sudden instance, a mythical black light swarmed the battlefield, blocking even Beelzebub's eyes.

***

When the darkness suddenly cleared, Altair carried the brightest smile as he stared at Shadowclaw, radiating an ancient red glow. Over its glossy edge laid the infernal script of the nine hells.

The sword felt lighter, carrying a horrid aura of rot… of contamination. But none of that Altair cared much for. Rather, what he loved was that he could input a hundred percent of his Mana into the blade without any of it leaking.

It was as if Shadowclaw had become an extension of his arm or, better yet, his meridians.

"I'm so awesome!" he said, giving himself a pat on his back.

"I wanna try it! "said Ren, eyeing the blade like meat.

"... The stench of Irkalla," Beelzebub thought, unsure what deal Altair and Astaroth came to. Nevertheless, the sword in Altair's possession was… adequate for a mortal.

For a soul or blade to be fully corrupted, it needed to spend an incalculable amount of time in the Hells, and Beelzebub could sense Shadowclaw had traveled from the first layer, Avenos, to the second layer, allowing the blade to not only gain the properties of part of the Hells but its runes.

'He ought to be able to triple his stats with that blade alone.' Thought the Monarch, tapping his finger across his armrest.

"It's mine," Altair mused, glancing at 'ice' in Reina's hand; his gaze slid to Zaros, who he had blasted away, walking back from the grueling trek of land his body had barreled through. The top half of his clothing had been torn apart with a shallow hole from where Altair's Vale Qi had torn through shone. Nevertheless, He was smiling with an impressive gleam in his eye, staring dead at Altair.

"Are we still fighting?" He asked, wiping the blood away from his lips.

Ragnar studied Zaros. "How are your injuries?"

"Crippling. Whatever Mana he used isn't allowing me to heal." Said Zaros, unable to stop smiling. His circles were heavily injured, and he could not even pull two-thirds from his reserves. "But if I'm to die, I might as well die fighting, right?"

Ragnar was grim. Vampires were known for their inhuman ability to regenerate, allowing them to regrow arms or reattach lost limbs. For his healing factor to be unable to heal him, Ragnar knew he was lucky that he didn't engage Altair without showing his full power.

"Did you really give up, Aria?" Asked Ren, studying the crimson-black blade.

Altair grinned. "Let's talk about that within the palace. We wouldn't want unwarranted gods to know our business." And his gaze swayed to Ragnar and Zaros. "Let's take care of you two now."

The two young masters went on guard, but against all reason, Altair merely opened his palm. And from the wound where he'd struck Zaros, black nodes of Vale Qi gathered.

"Our little bout is over." He said as dozens of Ninth Circles began to appear. Their faces were pale, but the aura around their bodies was brimming with Mana.

"Tasha, might you take us to the palace? I've much to discuss with the king of Vesim," He said, glancing towards the Lilm's pale face.

"Our business is finished; I've no reason to—"

"I mean, you can try to leave, but I'm sure Lord Malzeen here might take offense to that. After all, he did take the time out of his busy schedule to entertain everyone." Said the Prince with a smooth grin. "So please lead the way. No reason we can't be allies, right? Plus, if I die, so too does Aria. And who knows the type of rage your master will fall into if that were to happen.

You'd be lucky if he tore your skin off."

Tasha wanted to cry. She, a ninth circle Lim, a devil, was being blackmailed by a boy of fifteen.

"Oh yes… and I'd just love to learn more about Mythos," Ren added. "That's the layer you're from, right? It seems so—" Find your next adventure on m_v l|e-NovelFire

"This isn't over!" Ragnar shouted, fist curling into balls. He pointed towards all the dying men and women. "Stop this madness."

Altair made a face. " Why? The more people die, the less these Spirits can revive. Personally, I don't want to be a victim. And if I don't do it… these Ninth Circles here might." He glanced at the twelve Nineth Cirlces, memorizing their faces, before he walked towards Zaros. He smiled, offering a palm.

"Let's have a real fight one day."

Zaros touched his chest, which had healed when Vale Qi left his meridians. He laughed, taking the Prince by the hand. "Well played. I made the mistake of not taking you into consideration. Next time."

Reina stuck out her tongue at him. While Zagreus, Thaan, and Syris followed after the Prince, led away by Tasha. No one tried to stop him… for they knew he was right. In order to survive, the lives of those who are weak would only serve as a detriment in this cruel festival.

"By the time we are done… I'll have my own functional kingdom," Altair mused with a feverish smile. "And soon… I'll have my very own army."