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Rhygel
We have no form here. No substance. Only our thoughts and the in-born instinct driving us not to remain between planes.
“Do you know what a martini is?” Malphas asks through our mental link.
“No. Do you?”
He scoffs. “You sounded like an idiot to him. That’s why he ran. To get away from your stupidity.”
There’s little else to do in the place between planes, so I humor him. “That’s hardly likely. The last soul we claimed spoke at length about how delicious martinis were with extra olives. He had one in his hand when we reaped him. I made an educated guess.”
“He’s trying to get a rise out of you, Rhygel. Don’t let him,” Barbas says into the link as we near the infernal gate. The gate by which all demons must pass to enter Underfell—the realm we share with all demons, good, bad, and otherwise.
“Enough,” Typhon booms in the link, voice too large, too grating for this place. “Let us concentrate on reintegrating or—”
Malphas cuts him off, his chortle echoing in my mind.“Oh, we know what happens if you don’t focus, Typhon. A tail where an arm should be, spines where they should never be…”
I can’t sigh, not without a body and lungs. Oh, but if I could…
Of all the demons to be stuck with, I was tasked with herding a trickster, an outcast, and a savage brute. Though, admittedly, I’d given myself said task. They were my brothers-in-arms. Chosen family, despite their multitude of flaws.
As suggested, I focus on the infernal gate and reintegration. Though, it isn’t a true gate. There are no rails or posts. No columns or doors to mark the void between planes from Underfell.
There is only fire. The very element we were born of. Brilliant orange and blue flames protect the entrance of what most humans—if they could withstand traveling between planes—would call hell. Fire meant to keep out all non-demonic creatures, and as such could never hurt us, least of all in a non-corporeal state.
The glow of flames blinds my senses as my essence sifts through the barrier and pours back into my awaiting body, sitting right next to Malphas, Barbas, and Typhon.
Trickster, outcast, and brute.
“The new host is far better than the last,” Typhon says, stretching his limbs and cracking his joints. He’s always the most eager to return, happiest when he’s corporeal with his own fists to throw. “I ran her hard and her body responded well.”
I nod, cross the common room of the spartan dormitory we’re sharing for the trials, and pour four tonics. The indigo elixir glugs out slowly, the viscous liquid clinging to the walls of the crystal bottle. The potion, made to ease reintegration, goes down easily enough, though the buzzing limbs afterward isn’t pleasant.
“Yes, I agree. She is untrained, but there’s a well of untapped strength within her.”
Everyone nods in agreement as I pass out the tonic.
“Pity her mind is so…” Barbas trails off.
As always, Malphas states the obvious in the most coarse manner. “Fucked.”
Barbas’s black eyes narrow, tail whipping with disdain. “I wouldn’t say that exactly,” he snapped, Pittish accent carving out the vowels of each word.
As the only demon from The Pits ever to take part in the trials, Barbas generally aims to keep his accent undetectable. Anger relieves him of that sensibility.
“Oh? What would you say, then?” Malphas’s retort cuts through the air like a blade. “We had to bring her body to ecstatic release to simply tolerate her malaise.”
He had a point. The new host’s mind wasn’t pleasant, and bringing her to an orgasm had been the only thing proven to help.
Barbas’s jaw set as he readied his argument, but Typhon’s laugh effectively silences him. The brute’s leather wings expand outward with each guffaw. “Ecstatic release? Is that what you call it, Mal?”
“I didn’t want to be crude,” Malphas says, defending his awkward word choice.
“Since when?” Barbas chimes in.
“Focus. We still have work to complete,” I command, and my horde silences. I rub the base of my horns where tension tends to build. “We only collected three souls tonight because of that Tad creature’s interruption.”
“You shouldn’t haveinserted yourself into the host’s problems,” Typhon scolds.
