I agreed to it quickly, but frankly I'm not exactly sold on this idea. The idea of destroying a city, that is. If he wasn't being delusional - highly likely, but I need to risk it - then this will be certain way to gain enough essence of evil. It's tad excessive though, me thinks. However, it could be centuries until the next chance to 'cure' my state of being too blessed comes, and it might not be any better. Demon's gotta demon, I guess.

My summoner told me he's part of some sort of mage triumvirate, and that the two others of which will arrive soon. I'm staying in the summoning circle until then - I'm pretty sure I could leave the circle like I did with the druids, but I guess that'd be breaking the summoning etiquette, so I'm politely staying put.

I can hear faint rumble of carriages above me, meaning this mage lair is below the city - probably the one they want to destroy. Based on the canal cutting through this chamber, we're in sewers of the said city. Mercifully at least this portion seems to be defunct, so the place doesn't smell like ass. But it's not very glamorous lair nevertheless.

"The rent must be cheap."

The necromancer blankly stares at me.

"We don't... pay any."

We're saved from the awkward silence that followed as the two others, a man in weird fleshy mask and a woman with permanently sour face, arrive. The masked man seems to be the least socially awkward person here and takes the lead.

Spreading his arms he half-shouts...

"We three are the... Harmbringers!"

red blue

Did you mean: Harbingers?

I'm not exactly feeling the impending doom from them though, not at all. There's of course the sleepy cowled necromancer, who despite his shadowed face and dark robes manages to give impression of lop-eared old hound rather than a sinister mystery mage.

And the second one, this bombastic masked with his weird fleshy ghoulish half-mask. In addition to the mask he also wears a cloak that looks like he mugged the Phantom of the Opera for it - I'm uncertain if he's wearing anything beneath the cloak. The thing that bothers me more than his fashion sense is that he positively reeks of blood though.

The third one is a woman clad in gown-like robe with upwards curving pauldrons, imperial-style ornamental breastplate (with a bit different cut than the one I have) and a cleavage that desperately tries to compensate with area what the volume is lacking. Her ostentatious garment manages to make her head, framed by mousey thin hair and squinting near-sighted eyes as it is, look like it belongs to the wrong body. Well, I might have been bit uncharitable with my description, but she has been glaring daggers at me since she arrived and I don't have any idea why.

The mask dude continues his speech.

"We combine the three dark magics... my flesh magic--"

Ah, that explains the Eau de human-juice. Flesh mages are very rare, in part because it's a school of magic considered unholy even by necromancers and demonologists. I have never had much contact with them, but I understand many of the more deranged monsters of this world - a certain flying tentacle monster I brawled with comes to mind - have roots in their experiments.

"--his necromancy, and her demonology... to create something greater! Something MORE!"

After he's done pointing at his two companions, neither of which played along, I raise my hand.

"Hm? What?"

"If she's a demonologist, why didn't she summon me?"

"That's..."

He stops to think how to put it, but the woman interrupts.

"Because I cannot stand your ilk, succubus! You're always talking behind my back, mocking me! Like 'Huhuhu, no amount of glamour would help that face' or 'Tehee~, compensating much~?'!!!"

Well, that 'Tehee~' sounds familiar. I think I know why she has a complex about succubi. She looks like she wants to rant some more, but the fleshmask saves us from that by changing subject.

"Ahem. We three are conducting an ambitious and innovative plan! In this very facility we are preparing a large scale spell... a ritual that shall summon the great destroyer!"

The what? Are they actually trying to summon Cthulhu or something? The woman continues his explanation, her distaste for me being overshadowed by her interest in the subject.

"In all the myths and religions, be it myths of the elves or druidic lore, a similar figure appears: that of an entity that burned away the world of before. Some describe it as a shape of fire, while others as like of a feather-winged human."

Those sound awfully a lot like an ifrit and an angel, though I shouldn't assume anything yet.

"I deduced that all these are in fact the same entity, and through my demonic contacts I found out that the last sighting of it was in certain remote region of hell known as the Frozen Battlefield. I have reasons to believe that its remains are still there! And--"

"And this is where we come in! While she targets the summon..."

"I give it... a false spirit of... undead..."

"...and I replenish the flesh in its full glory!"

"Together we Harmbringers shall control and direct its power!!!"

They clearly had been waiting to brag someone, even a demon, about this plan. But would it work? I don't know. It seems to be reaching far too much, but I suppose I should hope they know what they are doing, since my recovery is at stake here.

"That's great. But why'd you summon me?"

"Ah! Yes! It just so happens we had intruders here."

"A group of dirty adventurers tried to breach our sanctuary. We naturally caught them, but those louts refuse to tell who sent them!"

"Assistance from... a succubus is... necessary."

I see. There are indeed various things a lust demon could do to make stubborn prisoners sing. ...But my powers don't quite work, so can I do it? ... Nah, I'll think of something. However, is this one thing quite enough to cure my condition? I don't think so.

Just as I'm about to sound my doubts, the necromancer seems to have realized it too.

"You shall... a have bigger role... afterwards. There's... much more to do... yet."

***

After that I did form a contract with these people, with appropriate compensation for my part. It's probably a mistake to work with these weirdos, but I can never fix my problem if I don't try. ...At least it'll be entertaining either way.

Currently I'm following the fleshmask dude to the prisoners. On the way I notice several more of their creations, both fleshy golem-like things and undead - and things in between those, not quite undead or living. It seems they have been at least training their combined magics, if nothing else.

The captured adventurers are in a chamber not far from the one I was summoned in. While handy, I'm tad uncertain about its security...

"You brought adventurers who are searching for your secret hideout into your secret hideout, which is supposed to remain secret from adventurers searching for secret hideouts...?"

"Well, yes, but it's not like they can escape, right?"

Sigh. Please don't be making more stupid decisions like that.

He opens a door with stairs leading downwards and I take the lead. I enter a dark room with various chains and other dungeon implements. The adventurers are hanging from the walls.

"Oooh. Is it the sour-faced bitch's turn today? Gee, I still don't feel like talking though."

As I approach them, one of them, a man in white mask (are masks the newest fad in this land?), jeers at me thinking I'm one of the mages. There are... I see two of them chained against the wall. The jeering man, and an elven woman with her head hanging down. I can't see her face, but she seems to be unconscious. Curiously, her clothes are torn while the man seems good as new. Torturing a hot elf seems to have interested those idiot mages more than that snarking guy in mask then?

As I step into the light of the torch without saying anything, he gasps and his eyes widen.

"Eh?!"

Yep, definitely not the sour-faced bitch this time. While my wings are significantly atrophied, they do not look like pitiful flip-flappers. No... on the contrary, the gaunt nigh-skeletal wings with tattered membrane, combined with my black sumptuous silk clothes, the pale skin, eyes a shade colder blue than mortals can possess, and the swordstaff hanging over him with its scythe-like large blade... it must look like the reaper has come.

...Is what I hope. The emo mage trio may have primed me for a failure with their shenanigans. Well, in that case I'll think of something else. Right now I need to make an impression. Hmm, do I have any useful memories concerning intimidating mortals in my databank?

"Resistance is futile."

Geh... That just slipped out. Popular culture is infectious! Well, whatever, a Borg-line is good enough here.

Indeed, the imprisoned adventurer isn't laughing now. If I play the intimidation angle for all it's worth, I may even get them to--

"A shuccubush!? Ish there no foul magic thoshe magesh haven't dabbled on?!"

Whoa! Another voice sounds from direction I had neglected to look at. I turn to look at the one who spoke with noticeable lisp... Hanging at chains from the wall, just like the two others, there's a... cat. A talking cat.

"Furries? In my world!?"

Since when there has been cat people in here...?! The one good point in this world was that while it is a complete mess, at least there are no illogical human-animal-abominations (demons don't count!) walking around! Did some absolute madman create them while I was reforming...?

No, false alarm. This is just a normal cat. Felix domesticus. That happens to talk. ... Yeah, I guess there are way stranger things in this world... like, say, a demon who receives personalities from another world.

As I stare at the tabby cat that gives me hostile glares and rapidly lose my intimidation factor, the mage enters the dungeon behind me. I guess he had stayed back to see what their reaction to me would be.

"...Why?"

"Oh! You want an explanation for the random talking cat?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind..."

"It's a race of domestic cats magically uplifted to be familiars of wizards! It was a very popular practice for a while, but when creating customized golems became the next fashionable thing, many of the cats were abandoned and had to earn their living in cold, cruel world. Sniff."

Thanks for the exposition, I guess. Also, you still want the kitty interrogated?

"I, of course, was the pioneer and visionary who combined best parts of both world by creating the cat flesh golem! Sadly I never got the recognition I deserved for that..."

Yeah, okay, I don't think he cares. He leans close to me and whispers...

"(We need to know where their allies are. Anything to keep them from interfering with the ritual!)"

"Alright."

His glistening fleshmask smells like raw bacon by the way.

"Besides that feel free to do whatever with them! Oh, but if you can, don't damage the bodies too much. The elf had wonderful legs, they'd look great in my next golem..."

Now I'm imagining one of those ugly flesh blob golems with her legs. Geh.

"Well, toodle-oo. (Hmmm... And and...! The cat, I think I can improve it...)"

He leaves while musing what to do with body parts of the prisoners. Lovely.

There's a moment of silence, which I dispell with a clap as I turn towards the prisoner trio.

"Alright. Let us commence the interrogation and/or torture!"

The masked man he has gotten over his scaredness, and even behind his mask I can see he's expecting an extreme S&M session next, because, you know, a succubus. His heavy breathing is creeping me out, so I think I'll pass. The elf is still out cold, so poking her would be of no use. That leaves me with... the cat. He's attempting to menace me with those kitty eyes. Come to think of it, all animals seem to hate me instictually, be it wolves or horses or anything.

Well, hate or not, I'm not going to torture the pussy cat for real though. That'd be just nasty, never mind ridiculous. But I do have another idea...