Then the harpies weren’t acting under Pyre’s orders. Solra nodded to himself before shooing the black lizardman away with his cane. He’d still have to have a talk with Pyre, but it shouldn’t be from too hostile of an angle. After all, they were still allies in the eyes of the halflings. Solra sighed as he continued to follow the sounds of the faint screams, walking at a controlled pace this time. His cane tapped in an even rhythm as he traversed down the hall, attracting the attention of a few halflings who saluted him.

As he got closer to the prison, more and more screams reached his ears. His eyebrows knit together as his stomach dropped. Hadn’t he warned Pyre about the necessity of the council members? Why did the amount of screams coming from the prison seem like so much more than usual then? His nose curled as the smell of burning hair and flesh assaulted him as he rounded a corner. He increased his pace—something was wrong. Out of morbid curiosity, he had once asked Pyre why he didn’t use fire to torture the angels. The half-angel said, “Why would I use fire? It damages their nerves and dulls their reactions to future pain. Plus, it’s an inefficient use of the healing orbs. Sticking needles underneath their fingernails is the most efficient ratio of pain inflicted and mana used to heal.”

A steady stream of bloody dwarves passed him by as the metal door to the prison appeared in his view. Like usual, it was shut with blood leaking from the corners and cracks along its bottom edge. An unfamiliar angel sat next to it, her head hanging and face pale. Solra frowned as he approached the angel who was covering her ears with her hands. A few unintelligible shouts came from the other side of the metal door.

Solra stopped in front of the angel. She raised her head, folding her hands into her lap. “Who are you?” Solra asked as he leaned against his cane. His brow furrowed as the bottom was stained by the sticky blood on the floor. “Is this some new form of torture Pyre invented? A timeout?”

“M-my name is Justitia,” Justitia said as she bit her lower lip. She glanced towards the metal door, hoping someone would come out and save her from the confrontation. She recognized Solra—all the prisoners did. The door didn’t open.

“Why are you on this side of the door?” Solra asked and raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards the prison with his cane. He activated his power, but his free hand reached into his robe and grasped one of the orbs he had sewn inside of his clothing as a precaution.

“I … made a deal with Palan,” Justitia said. “He’d free me from the torture if I joined him.”

“Is that something he can do?” Solra asked and furrowed his brow. The only reason why Solra was comfortable with keeping angels as captives was because of the red metal holding back their powers. Why would he keep people who wanted to kill him so close to the place he slept otherwise? Who gave that archdemon permission to free his captives? “Where is he now?”

“He’s inside,” Justitia said as she pursed her lips and made up her mind. If Solra wanted to force her into more rounds of torture, she was going to fight him.

Solra nodded. “Come with me,” he said as he opened the door to the prison. Black smoke billowed out of the upper half of the entrance.

“Her too!? Who haven’t you made a contract with in here!?”

A voice that sounded like ringing bells reached Solra’s ears, stunning him. He glanced at Justitia who flinched and chose to remain seated, ignoring his previous command.

“Like … a couple of people over there. Maybe a handful or two over in that corner….”

Solra recognized Palan’s voice. He was about to say something but inhaled a lungful of black smoke and started to cough.

“Didn’t I say everyone had to remain silent? Who dares to not shut up!?”

The beautiful voice from before didn’t have as much as an effect on Solra this time, perhaps, because he was too busy trying to breath. A sense of impending danger caused him to freeze mid-wheeze, and he lunged towards the side, crashing heavily against the ground, kicking up a wave of bloody mud which washed over Justitia. Moments later, a column of roaring black flames rushed out of the doorway and collided against the opposite wall, melting the metal door in the process.

“Holy shit,” Justitia whispered as molten bricks began to slide off the wall across from her, oozing onto the floor. Luckily she chose to sit next to the prison door instead of facing it. The black flames continued to burn for a few seconds, but they winked out of existence. Justitia noticed the flames closest to Solra had disappeared first. She nudged the archangel with her foot and asked, “Are you okay?” Solra was the leader of the rebel army, but she felt sympathy for him as a fellow sufferer of Raea’s rage.

“That hurt,” Solra said as he spat out a mouthful of bloody gunk and pushed himself off the floor. He sat up and held his waist with one hand. “My back. I’m getting too old for this.” He released his cane and reached into his robe, pulling out a white orb which he used to heal himself. When the tendrils of light had nothing left to heal, Solra sighed and put the orb back inside his clothing. He asked Justitia, “You couldn’t have warned me?” She stared at him with no response. Suddenly, he felt a bit foolish for asking her that. He grasped his cane and crawled back up onto his feet. His robe was stained with red and black blood, but he supposed it was better than being dead.

Solra considered closing the door to the prison, but it was more bent out of shape than he was. After witnessing Raea’s powers, he decided to temporarily retreat. Talks could be held with Pyre later—preferably after Raea went to sleep and he had a few archlings to depend on. He pursed his lips as he hurriedly limped away. It had been a long time since he felt so helpless in front of someone else’s power, and that included the fact Raea hadn’t even truly been aiming to kill him.