Chapter 39: Yech the Disgusted

"We'll play 'til you win."​

The opening to the cave looms. Mist obscures your view.

Your voice rings out. You're no coward. "Lord Yech! I have requested an audience with you. It's Richard— Richard Anscham. I come alone, save for my pet dog."

A cloying, decrepit and ancient voice answers you back, from the darkness and looming mist. His accent is impossible to place, but sarcasm and disdain drips from every word. "How appropriate. You brought another mutt. Fine. Come in. Let's get this over with."

Head tilting— desperately wishing you had your shield— you enter the lair of the demon lord. The mist almost seems to intensify as you step inside. The cavern is moist. Dew clings to the walls and floor. It's slick as your scuffed shoes take a few more hesitant steps forward, scanning the cave for the source of your dog's distress. A sense of familiarity takes you, but Ray's growling is immediate.

Your eyes fall on countless barrels of liquor stacked to an impossibly high ceiling. Stairs wrap around the walls, and stretch up beyond your sight or senses. Near the back wall— adjacent to several stacks of plants and decaying wine bottles— is a man. Rather, was a man. The body looks to be the corpse of an ancient lord, yet the demon's face is entirely decayed. You're acutely reminded of the shrouded demon's skull, yet this lord is not covered in blood. He's dripping in wine, adorned in colorful regalia of an age you have yet to identify.

He's utterly still. So still that you mistook him for another corpse in the ruins. Webs cling to his frame, as if he hasn't moved in an age— until there's movement, and a death rattle.

Lord Yech leans forward. The empty sockets of his skull glares at your own emaciated and sunken eyes with more disgust than you ever thought a creature could convey. As he looks up to you, you can't help but hold onto your holy symbol.

"Ray, stay. Stay, boy."

The demon lord's gaze cuts into your soul. His voice croaks out as hollow and wavering as the mist around you both. "What the fuck do you want with me?"

"I would like to apologize. Formally. My companion, Ofelia, informed me that she read my correspondence back to you—"

"Blow it out your ass. You're sorrier in person than you even were on paper. I knew this was going to be a joke, but seriously? You think—" Ray's growling intensifies as the demon slowly leans back, rolling his head around to glare at you even more intensely. The wine dripping off of him seems to cling to his voice. The sour vineyard hangs in the air, sticking to the back of your throat. His words reek of uninhibited revulsion. "—you seriously want me to believe that you're sorry for anything you did? You came in here to get in good with Idonea. That's fine, she can mind her own fucking business— but you have the nerve— the fucking audacity to try and appease me?"

For the first time since you can remember, you take your hand off of your holy symbol. The spasm in your arms, back and legs is irritating, but you hold your ground— looking firmly at the demon. His soaking, hateful frame bristles under the scrutiny. You try and soften your expression— aware that your face is hard, the lines under your eyes are deep, and that you likely look entirely disheveled. At the very least, you can soften your voice. It comes out in its usual, timid tone. "I would like to at least try. Ray, down, boy. Sit. Good boy. Quiet. Listen, Lord Yech—"

The demon rudely groans, lolling his head back further. He sweeps an overturned chalice from the floor, pouring its contents into his outstretched, skeletal mouth and acting as if he isn't listening at all. The wine soaks into his chest— pouring through what you assume to be a decayed cavity— and soaks his fine attire.

​

You pay no heed to the immature outburst. "To be frank— I meant no offense. I mean no offense. I don't even know what Idonea intends to have me do. You clearly deserve my honesty, and I do not intend to mince my words or lead you to believe for a second—"

You catch the anger tilting into your voice. Your outrage at the situation you find yourself in is likely due to the alcohol relaxing you, easing your constant repression. "I'm just as furious with her request as you are. I want to leave this place. I want to go home. I hate these ruins. I can't stand it down here— I can't stand working with demons— and honestly, I don't care for the way you've disregarded every attempt I've made at showing you some courtesy."

That got his attention. Yech's head lolls forward, making a grotesque show of running the wine out and over his open mouth as he stares back at you. He swallows, wipes his jaw, and throws his goblet at you.

You dodge to the side. It was a weak throw, meant to annoy and not harm. Despite your exhaustion, you stay on your feet, and glare back at the demon. "You mock me for taking a title, yet you scarcely honor your own. Why do you humor me? Why would a demon not immediately try and kill a man? Why would you tolerate my presence in your domain, when you clearly have the power to kill me at any time?"

Ray is lying next to you as you've commanded (trying to keep quiet), but he can't help but growl as the demon lord rises from his throne.

You bristle, expecting him to attack, but Lord Yech simply walks to the other side of the cave. His motions are sluggish. There's no rage in his limbs. No urgency in his motions. You continue as he walks away from you.

"I'm willing to bet that the one you're most disgusted with is yourself."

He slumps down next to an enormous keg, fishing around in his pockets for something as he looks up to you. "I'm bored."

You repeat his words with disbelief and no small measure of disdain. "You're bored."

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"No—"

"Good. Shut the fuck up and get over here. Didn't want those broads interfering. Keep your dog back, too. Probably wants my fucking bones."

Eyeing the demon with extreme hesitation, you command Ray to stay put, and cautiously step across the cave.

You stay standing, while looking down at the sluggish, wavering figure before you. The drenched and drunken form would look pathetic, were it not for the knowledge of how much power he commanded.

"I'll eat my cape before I call you Father. Richard, was it?"

"Yes."

"Malimos has not shut the fuck up about you. It's been nearly a month. I'm so sick of it— I swore I'd kill you the second I laid eyes on you. But you might be alright. I'll kill him instead." The demon lays his head back against one of the kegs, raising a hand over the floor of the cave. From the soil rises a pair of small glasses, seemingly out of thin air. Recalling Celegwen mentioning how strenuous it is to conjure anything, you can't help but wonder what the extent of this demon's ability is. He wordlessly fills the glasses from the spigot. An intensely dark and smoky blend hits you, even from several feet away.

"I don't want you here. I don't want anyone here. I just want some fucking peace. I want to die down here, Richard— fuck, you probably do too— and I don't want Idonea's fucking pity. Take this."

He thrusts one of the glasses at you, spilling a healthy amount off onto the floor. You practically expect acid, but it harmlessly falls to the stone. Arm twitching, you hold it steady with your free hand as you take the glass from the demon.

"I bet you get a lot of it. Pity. Just look at you. Hyped up to be some kinda monster and you're just an angsty looking bundle of scars and repression, huh? Can't even stay still— twitchy little bastard— drink the damn thing, don't just smell it—"

You almost feel like you should say something. The peat and smoke coming from the whiskey in your hands puts Ofelia's best to absolute shame. Trusting that this demon genuinely doesn't want to kill you— and craving to get out of his presence as soon as possible— you frown and take a sip of the drink. There's little burn. The liquid is impossibly smooth, full-bodied, and lingers in your mouth long after you've swallowed.

It's hard to not comment on the demon's words, or his excellent taste in drinks. "I would be lying if I didn't agree with everything you've said— and this is excellent. Thank you. I didn't mean to reject your gift previously— I simply have a very low tolerance, and wanted my wits about me when we met."

Another groan. "Stop brown nosing. Stop it. I liked you better when you were pissed."

"Fine. I don't get much in the way of pity, Yech. I don't particularly care for Idonea's treatment of you or her other children, either, if I'm to be perfectly honest."

"There's a reason she's down here, but I'm not gonna' get into it. Look— you wanted to bet on me? Let's fucking bet."

"What...?"

The demon stops fishing around in his pocket, and pulls out a pair of dice. They're carved out of solid bone, are studded with gold, and look positively stunning. "You show me a good time, and I'll tell Idonea to piss off. We'll bet on it. You win, and I'll let you all get out of here. No fuss, I get a break from the tedium, you get a few drinks."

You're immediately uncomfortable. Gambling is strictly forbidden by the Church of Mercy. That comment about Idonea has your skin crawling.

You take another sip of the whiskey. "What if I were to lose?"

"You won't. We'll play 'til you win. You're on a bit of a time limit, aren't you?"

"I am."

A sinister tone creeps into the demon's voice that you are entirely not fond of. "And you've already been down here for a day and a half, eh?"

"By my best estimates, yes."

"Well. I'd appreciate the company. You get to drink, we have a good time— and you get along on your merry way. Sounds fair?"

"Alright." You don't even look at the demon as you casually agree to his terms, and admire his lair as you wait for his response.

Silence hangs in the air. Yech seems to be entirely stunned by your reply. You can't help but smirk. Though an itching, cloying, nagging fear at the back of your mind tells you that this is likely just a ploy to waste your time, you don't want to give Yech an inch. You have no problem fighting with demons. It's obvious that he's only going to respect you so long as you assert yourself.

I love Mercy with every part of me, but I could stand to loosen up a little.

She's been all over me.

Through me.

What am I thinking?

How strong is this drink?

The demon laughs with a wet, sickly and altogether depraved sort of satisfaction. "Just like that?! So much for a man of the cloth."

You roll back your frayed sleeves and slide down next to the demon lord. Looking straight at him, you knock back the rest of the whiskey.

He returns your gaze, shocked and obviously pleased. The drink is smooth, and his disbelief is even more satisfying as you feel your inhibitions entirely escaping you. It's a lot easier to maintain eye contact with creatures who look remarkably worse off than you do. You'll play his game, alright.

"I'm not as green as you might think, Yech. Don't get the wrong idea about me. I'll do whatever I need for Mercy. I— I mean to say— I'm light but, but this— but this is hardly my first time drinking."

The demon is still laughing to himself, now even more relaxed as he pours you another glass. Through his bone and fully revealed teeth, there's visible amusement intermingling with his constant disgust. You don't mind humoring him, and nurse the glass. It's delicious.

It could be that you can't remember the last time you ate or drank anything of substance, but this is almost too easy.

Mercy— for all his talk— is he as desperate as I am for some company?

"I doubt you paid any attention to my note, but I had mentioned Ofelia had an eye for spirits as well—"

"Is that the tall bitch with the nice rack or the short one who decided to fucking stab my garden?"

"...she's the short one."

"Why should I give a shit?"

"Her family seems to be in the business of this sort of thing. You should have given her a chance. She knows— she knows her way around liquor, and how— and how to look after her friends."

Yech looks at you with no small measure of disgust. "Right. Sure. I'm assuming that's how you're in such fine shape, eh? These babes can't even feed you. You'd probably better slow down if we're going to last more than an hour." The demon lord looks to your glass, back to you, and over your spindly limbs. "You seriously drink?"

"Not often. Last I had in some time was with Ofelia and Celegwen, but it— I..." Your mind wanders, trying to remember the last night you drank. It was terribly dark, with blood-red webs lingering on the outskirts of your vision. Yet everyone was so eager to share, and to look out for one another. You may have been the only man there, but everyone was wonderfully human.

"...they were extremely kind."

"You really can't handle this shit at all, can you?" The demon lord puts up a skeletal finger, rising for a moment to approach another cask. His movement is unbelievably slow, and his steps seem to tilt.

Is it the floor tilting? It's probably just how loose and disorienting his cape is. Surely I'm not completely intoxicated just yet.

He comes back to you with a clear glass.

"More vodka?" You shoot the demon a smug look as you go to take the cup from him.

The glass is shoved at you uneventfully. "Water. Pace yourself. I don't want you passing out. You look like you haven't eaten anything in an age, and I'm not about to take your sick ass out to dinner."

With little hesitation, you put back the glass. Like usual, the sensation is altogether unpleasant. Agriculture's seen to it that you don't care for much in the way of nutrition, but you suffer through it.

The demon is staring at you with a look that finally gets under your skin. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I could ashk you the same question," you fire back. The slur is becoming difficult to manage, but you're not necessarily equipped to care.

The motion is almost imperceptible, but you catch his slight recoil through your haze. "Sure, don't answer my question. You know it'd be insufferable for me to talk about them either, so fine. Keep your fucking secrets."

There's a slow movement as the demon shakes the dice in his hand. The soft clacking catches Ray's attention. You can't help but feel sorry for him, neglected as he is on the opposite end of the cave. "Jusht a moment," you murmur, staggering upright.

Your vision tilts, and the cave comes out from under you. You put an arm forward and successfully right yourself. Yech's laughter doesn't escape your attention as you zig-zag over to Ray, trying to reassure him. "Eassy, boy. We'll be out of here s-soon."

Something catches the corner of your eye, sliding across the floor next to you. It's a bone. You roll your eyes as Ray looks up to you, begging to eat and play. "Go ahead. S-stay, boy. Good boy, Ray."

Staggering back, Yech could not look any more tickled. He thrusts another glass at you, though this one is a far lighter color than before. There's a small, black item stuck on the side of the glass that vaguely resembles a parasol. You frown at it. He laughs in your face. "Thought this might be more your speed. Come on."

The demon lord pats the cave floor across from him, entirely too tickled and condescending for your taste. You take the glass."You didn't exactly respond to me, either."

"What? What's wrong with me? Are you fucking kidding me?" There's a slow rise and a wet rattle from the center of Yech's frame as he stretches. You catch holes in his noble attire, soaked as it is with wine and decay. The smell is revolting and barely concealed by the alcohol in the air. His voice is off-color. "Why the fuck do you care?"

You don't reply at first, taking a small drink of the pink liquor in your hands. It smells fruity, and tastes vaguely of apples and strawberries. You almost want to save the little parasol for Celegwen. "This is exchellent, Yech. Th-thank you."

"Look, where would I even start? This is stupid. You're being stupid, you're drunk."

You get a little more comfortable, easing onto the floor. You stay sitting upright, but can't help relaxing. The constant strain of repressing tremor and any human emotion is exhausting, and you don't have it in you right now to try. Everything is fuzzy. Even Ray blissfully eating in the back of the cave.

You spin the parasol on your glass, smirking at the demon lord. "Ishn't that what you wanted...?"

"Well, yes. Everyone's better when they're drunk. Especially you, apparently. How am I supposed to believe you killed dozens of my friends—" That glare is back again.

I did, didn't I?

I don't regret protecting myself, or my friends, or surviving as long as I have for a second.

Did I enjoy it?

"I want to be honesht with you, Yech. I— I really do."

"Good fucking luck lying to me."

"You sseem more messhed up than me. That'sh ssshaying a lot."

"Gee, thanks, Richard. Aren't you supposed to be compassionate or some shit?"

"Y-you don't have to tell me anything. I jusht want to help."

"Look, I'm not— I'm not worse off than you. That's bullshit. You're— you're a fucking monster— you're a pervert and a killer and obviously sick as fuck—"

This isn't anything you haven't heard before.

You stare blankly at the demon, entirely unfazed.

You take another sip of the cocktail, entirely aware of how anxious your words and the spinning of the parasol is making Yech. "Y-your point...?"

The demon lord chucks his glass at the far wall, away from you and Ray. It seems his frustration is mostly with himself. "There's nothing wrong with a soldier needing some space. I just needed some time to think. It's been— what...?"

"Oshhtedholm s-seems to have been decaying for s-several agesh."

"...oh. Has it, now?"

"At leasht."

"Probably shouldn't have drank so much."

"It'sh not helping."

Yech nervously toys with the dice in his hands. "It's not helping." He seems to have remembered them. "...you know how to play craps?"

"Wh-what?"

"You don't gamble, do you?"

"Do I look— do I look like someone who r-regularly shinsss—?"

"Do you honestly want me to answer that?"

"...n-no. How do I p-play?"

"We'll keep it simple. You gotta ante up to play. That means you're going to keep drinking, Richard, and you're going to match me."

You give an entirely condescending look to the demon lord. "S-simple enough."

"You'll win if the first roll is a 7 or 11."

"This sheems too eassy."

"Hold onto your flat ass, there's more. If the first roll is a 2, 3, or 12: you lose. You'll stay here another day, and we'll play again."

You tense slightly. "W-what about the other rollsh—"

"Everything else is a pass. 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10: if you get it, it has to be repeated before a 7 is thrown again. So—" The demon childishly slows his voice down, wanting to make sure you understand. "—if you roll a 4, you'll need to roll a 4 again before a 7 will win."

"Thish could— thish could take awhile, th-then?"

"That depends. You're a pretty lucky guy, right? Surviving all of us? Making it as far as you have?" The demon lord slides the dice over to you. Gold studs glisten against bone.

The mist and faint light of the cave all swims before you. With a slow motion, Yech reaches over and takes your empty cocktail glass. In a matter of seconds, he produces two shots. They're both filled with something blacker than the mist of the cave that smells faintly of licorice.

"Ante-up."

With a grimace, you swing back the shot. The anise is cloying and faintly reminds you of a few herbal remedies you've used to effect. You sweep the dice into your hands. They feel heavier than they looked.

Everything feels fairly heavy right now, in fact. You almost want to say a prayer, but you know now is definitely not the time. There is nothing here with you right now but your trust in yourself.

Almost in a parody of prayer, you hold the dice to your chest as you shake them.

"A-alright, Yech— you know the Gods are with me! Behold—!"

The bone and gold clatters across the cave floor between you two. As the roll finishes, the demon lord breaks out into such intense laughter that he falls over backwards. "Crap!! Fuck, you're terrible! Ahaha!"

A two. A one.

A failure stares back at you.

Yech stares back at you, wiping something wet from his eye sockets. It's almost as if he was crying, but it's merely wine. The demon lord lecherously sucks at the bony, dripping digit before leering back at you. "Tough luck. Looks like you're stuck with me for another day. We'll try again tomorrow night. Oh, don't look so fucking upset—"

Your frown is intense. Yech plies you with another pink cocktail, which you begrudgingly accept. Another spasm in the torn muscle and scarred flesh hits you hard. You hold the arm steady— trying to make the best of the situation— and nearly spill the glass in the process. "D-do you at leasht have a-any food, or more water? I'm m-mortal, Yech. I can't ssubshissst off of alcohol alone."

"Did I not just fucking say that I wasn't taking you out for dinner? My aptitude is for liquor, and weapons, and explosives—"

"And treessh?"

"Maybe you can hold your shit better than I thought. Yes, and fucking trees, but I don't want to. It's weird. You're being way too chummy."

"That'sh fine—" You murmur, still frowning with absolute seriousness. "—I'll invoke Agriculshure if I mussht."

Yech leans forward, grabbing the collar of your robes with sudden violence and terror. "Hold your fucking tongue."

Ray immediately begins to bark hysterically, but you shout out to him. "Sh-shtay! Shtay back, Ray."

You look down to Yech, realizing he's actually a good deal shorter than you. It's been very difficult to tell, as he's mostly been sitting. He smells absolutely terrible. The reek of decay and stale liquor clings to his vest and cloak intensely. You try not to gag, and keep a straight face.

His voice is still decrepit, but there's something more to it. It's an almost childlike fear. "Not here. Don't you fucking dare. You— that's your fucking answer to everything, isn't it? You're literally twitching to go again. You— you sicken me, you piece of shit—"

He pushes you back, releasing his grip and making an extremely exaggerated show of wiping off his hands. It's as if you were the one that's disgusting him. "Fucking disgraceful. It'd probably kill you, anyways. You're nearly as skinny as I am. You must have already abused—" The word catches in the demon's throat. He struggles for a moment to find a replacement in his distress. "—it— plenty. Fucking bullshit. I told you not to fucking bother..."

A pile of expletives falls from the demon's teeth, devoid as they are of lips. He rises slowly, making a haphazard gesture with his arms and conjuring something out of the soil ahead. You try to wipe the clinging wine stains off of your collar where Yech grabbed onto you. It's to little avail.

He continues his cursing, looking to you as he produces something out of the floor. "You're going to stay put, and you're not going to invoke shit. I'll send your bitches some food and water, if you swear to not call on anyone. To think, I was almost enjoying your disgraceful company. Fucking ridiculous."

The demon's conjuring is nothing like Celegwen's deliberate, beautiful motions or starlight. From the soil and his unpredictable wavering rises a pool, a vine, and a series of wooden dishes. The liquid pool of liquor congeals, rises from the vines, and forms into a stunning banquet. Ray's barking and growls subside as the smell of what you assume to be actual food hits you all. It's almost too good to be real.

Hands trembling, you set down your drink and try to adjust your robes. Rolling back down your sleeves, you find yourself self-conscious even through the liquor. You can't feel any hunger— but you're aware of how loosely your robes hang on you, and how terribly thin your frame has become. Your countless scars go back into hiding from the lord's dining area, but your elbows still poke the edges of the hems, and your shoulders protrude slightly against the fabric.

The demon's disgust lingers in the air as he looks out to you. He stops the spell, leaving you to stare. "I take my title pretty fucking seriously, Richard, and won't let someone in my domain go without."