Chapter 76: Empty Handed

"Go home, you idiot."​

There is a soft, golden, and familiar glow. Screams. The sound of hundreds of footsteps. A rush, a trickle, a steady flow of water.

A battle takes place underground.

You awaken on the edge of a crumbling stair. You feel well-rested. More than you have in some time. Ray is at your side, keeping you safe as you slowly pull away. The drop is one you have taken before— suicidally— with nothing but a rope and the God of Flesh. The colossal drop is terrifying in the dozens of crags protruding out without proper hold. Slick with water, they are utterly lethal in their scarcity. The entire sorcerous descent slowly curves in towards the waterway below.

You reel. Vision pulling away from the current of blood, of filth, and of gray foam, you try to pull back. You're so disoriented. You slowly sit yourself upright, looking around with wide eyes. Green lances with gold as you look to your allies. The light ahead obscures the edges of the ruins, the corridors beyond, and what you speculate to have been your path to your current position. While your dog happily licks the sides of your hands, doing his best to reassure you, he is the only one that seems relatively unharmed by your journey.

Ofelia's eyes are still laced with divinity. Her pallor is absolute. The cloak about her shoulders is singed from flame, with smoke, and is torn by knives. Save for the light emanating from her vision, her hood obscures the rest of the horror that is surely written across her face. She is utterly silent, standing daggers drawn, looking frantically to the passage below as Yech does what he does best.

Yech is drinking, while gesturing freely with his hand. Before you is a set of crumbling stairs. Beside one stands the archdemon, conjuring new stone and soil to mend the ruins. He's covered in soot, in blood, in viscera and in exhaustion— yet he does not hesitate in his work. He pulls a number of stones alongside you, giving you something to lean on, and pushing you gently aside from the edge of the descent.

He realizes that you're awake. The archdemon practically collapses with shock, drops the bottle that he's drinking, releases the stone he's manipulating, and rushes to your side. "You're alive! Oh, you fucking beautiful lunatic, you're alive!"

His voice is strained, and he falls to his knees next to you, taking you into such a firm embrace that it pulls out a moan. Ray almost gets between you two— unsure if the demon is hurting you or not— and winds up keeping his distance.

Ofelia lowers her daggers, staring at you in shock.

You really hate that this is the first noise you've properly made since you've awoken, and want to say something a little more appropriate.

Music

You drop your cane, your pride, your questions, and take your friend in your arms. You're ravaged with tremor despite your rest, and cling onto him as tightly as you can. His bones are hard, his robes reeking of death and wine, but you don't care. You've never judged him. "Thank you. Thank you, Yech— th-thank you so much. Thank you—"

"Yeah, yeah. You're welcome."

The way the demon actually accepts your gratitude has every one of your hairs standing on end. You know he had to have suffered to get you this far. "You— you never had to. But you did. Thank you. Th-thank you for protecting us, through everything."

You both bury your faces in each other's shoulders, clinging onto one another for dear life.

"You can stop thanking me, Richard."

"I c-can't. I'm so grateful. We've been through so much."

"I know."

"Thank you."

"You earned the fucking rest. You're gonna be okay."

"Th-thank you, Yech."

"You're welcome."

The sound of the battle taking place underfoot is low, muffled by the barrier of rock and stone that the archdemon erected. He speaks into the cloth of your robes— which you can't help but now notice are dusted with smoke, rubble, blood that is not your own, flecks of viscera, and the story of battles you didn't have to face— thanks to the man in your arms and the woman at your back.

With a groan, the archdemon pulls himself back, rising to hit feet again with no effort to move you. He's looking down to you for once as you move to gather your things, and try to get a hold of yourself. There's no sleep that clings to you now. Not as the sound of war cuts through any hope of rest.

"Richard. I hate to do this, but it can't wait." The severity of the demon's voice, the lack of expletives, his intense disgust sets every nerve in your body on fire. He isn't drinking as he looks down to you, his bones smeared with blood and confetti. His fine clothes are tattered, and exhaustion is written over every inch of his frame. "It's so fucking good to see you up, but I have to keep moving. You have to get out of here. Offala lost it. She's closed off the ruins, flooded the waterway, and has been holding everyone at bay since Idonea— "

There's a building resentment and so much anger in Yech's voice that he has to stop himself, taking a swig from a flask out of his sleeve before continuing. "Since shit has escalated. She wants to let everyone out. She's lost it. I have to go stop her, and set this straight. I need to go. You need to go. I've taken you as far as I can. Malimos can get you out, get you safe. I know he'll want to hear all this. I'll kill him if I see him right now, for not stopping the cunt sooner—" The demon is visibly shaking, so furious and revolted that he can't continue.

Ray leans hard against you as you get to your feet. You lean on him, and on the bone and ebony in your hand. The stability of your dog and your cane is absolutely necessary to stay on your feet. You're at the end of your rope. Despite the (relative) improvement in your condition, it feels like you haven't eaten or drank anything in days, and like you've been carried on the back of a skeleton through darkness, smoke and terror. There's an exhaustion in your frame, tremor, pain, and the desperate need to lay back down and rest.

You look down to Yech with compassion and so much gratitude that you can scarcely speak. Despite your exhaustion, you aren't hurt. You can tell that the archdemon upheld his word. No one's laid a hand on you. You've nearly left the ruins. You have no idea how long it's taken, how you've gotten here, or how much your companions have endured in your name— but you have an idea of why.

The passage below you is nearly closed off. The sorcerer formed a barrier of rock and soil to mend the stair, while leaving himself a rapid exit away from the sound of battle. The thunder of hundreds of footsteps continues through water, blood and death. You recognize the pounding. The surge of the tide.

Offala is waiting. She has planned revenge. She is willing to abandon her position to upset a new alliance, to release her demons, and to undo your friend's work. It's likely because you tried to kill her.

It's highly likely that every demon in the ruins knows you're allied with the next archdemon.

It's very reasonable to suspect that the more intelligent half of the centipede thinks that the only way she'll live under this new reign is to take matters into her own hands.

How long has she waited in the darkness? How long has it taken her to heal?

She allied herself with an orc warchief, long before I knew that demons could think or feel.

It was impossible for me to understand at the time. She did everything in her power to kill me on sight.

There was never any time to think. There was never any time to grow. To feel. To know.

I'm a different man than the one that entered these ruins. I've endured so much.

I've learned more than any human could be expected to withstand.

Yech places a hand firmly on your shoulder. It's so slick with blood that it sticks to your robes. Chunks of congealed viscera cling onto the fabric as he tenses, looking to you with so much respect and devotion that you want to sear the image into your mind forever. The sunken pits where he once had eyes convey so much reverence— impossible though it may be. His exposed teeth, the cracks in his skull, his ridiculous hat (that he's certainly enchanted to stay in place through your ordeal)— it all sinks deep into your memory, and into your heart.

"I have to go, Richard. You have to get the fuck out of here. Take Ofelia, take your dog, take yourself and get home safely. I'll handle these idiots. I'll never have their respect if I can't put even put a woman in her place!" He tosses aside the bottle in his hand, letting it tumble down the descent next to you both as he places his other hand on your opposite shoulder.

"Thank you. For everything. I thought you killed yourself for me, you fucking asshole! You bastard— you—" He sounds like he's going to cry. The demon takes you into his arms again, clinging so tightly onto you that you can scarcely breathe.

You choke out a few words, smiling through the pain. "I— I thought you— didn't want a sappy good-bye—"

"Shut the FUCK up, Richard—!" Yech is sobbing in the ugliest fashion possible.

Every fiber of your being wants to help this man, this demon. You don't want to say good-bye.

Through the iron grip that the demon has on you, you manage to shift up your arms to take him into a hug— and to uphold a promise.

"I'm n-not going anywhere."

"You're a fucking maniac, Richard. I thought you were dead. I couldn't let you go, you bastard!" The grip around you is so tight that a few flecks of gold drift across your eyes. Yech's sobbing redoubles. "You fucking bastard— but you can't. Go! You're right here, there's the fucking exit! Go home, you idiot— take them and get out of my fucking sight."

The demon tries to pull back, but you keep your arms firmly around him. Your conviction is absolute. "The church didn't raise me to be a coward, Yech. I'm staying. I'm fighting. I'm not leaving you here to die. Not to the ruins. Not to Offala, or to her demons. Not until we get— not until we have that sappy good-bye I know you want to give."

There's a sniff. You know he really wants it. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. Shut the fuck up. You're still trying to get yourself killed, you fucking asshole—"

"No." You manage to get the demon to loosen his grasp. You pull away, to look down at him with so much determination that flecks of gold and light practically materialize before you. "I started this, Yech."

Yech's dedicated, reverent, and wine-streaked eyes dry, if only for a moment.

You tighten your grasp on your cane, matching his devotion. Jaw tight, body tense, calm overtakes you before the storm that has to be waiting for you below.

"Let's finish this. Together."

There's a long pause between you both.

Wordlessly, you both grasp each other's arms, pulling one another back into a hug.

"FINE! Fine, alright. See if I fucking care—"

"It's okay, Yech."

"We're gonna fuck 'em up, Richard."

"Is there— I mean, I'm trying to do better, Yech. I thought we were going to be showing Mercy—"

"Save it for when you get home. This bitch deserves it."

"Nearly two hundred legs, Yech."

"We'll close 'em!"

"We will do better than that."

"Show 'em what you're fucking made of."

"A more tangible form."

There's a cough. A clearing of a woman's throat— one that is only a few feet away from you both.

You and Yech simultaneously turn from each other to look down to the halfling that has been watching you both form the unholiest of alliances.

Her eyes are laced with gold, but it's the only luster on her frame. She is stricken with months of travel underground, searching for an answer that she could not find. She looks to both of you with so much fear and horror that you do not recognize her.

She has been through a nightmare of your making.

Ofelia holds her ground— her daggers lowered— and turns her gaze from you both to look to the corridors beyond. By how hoarse and ragged her voice sounds, you suspect this is the first time she's spoken in days. "Can we not? Can we just— can we go? Please. Richard—" She's crying. There's no sound, but tears flow freely down her face while she looks to you in the embrace of a demon. "I want to go. I need to go home. I can't do this anymore. We're so close. I don't want to die. Not now. Not after everythin' we've been through. I've seen enough. I've seen way too much. I don't want to get hurt again. I don't know what we're gettin' into. I don't know what's past here, or what's between me and the surface anymore. I don't want to die, Richard—"

Something breaks. The halfling wraps her arms around herself, unable to take her eyes off of you as she begs and sobs.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to die."

Music

You wrest yourself away from Yech's hold, and direct a grimace towards your shaking companion. Those eyes of divinity— the same eyes that have seen so much with you— are begging you. She's keeping herself together as best as she's able, but you know she's seen too much.

"I made you a promise, Ofelia. I intend to keep it. Yech— is there any way we can send word to Malimos? I need to ensure her safety. She must pass from here unharmed."

The demon lord wipes the wine off of his hollow cheekbones, sniffing and immediately moving across the crumbling stone. He kneels down to a nearby web that's buried in moss, and whispers to it in a voice too low to be heard.

You don't step towards Ofelia. It hurts to even look at her— to gaze down on someone so devastated by your actions and journey— but you force yourself to try. She deserves your respect. "I have asked for more from you than anyone ever should. I'm sorry, Ofelia. Please, go home. Take care of yourself. I— I can't expect you to accept an apology. I know you are afraid. I know you are hurt. I wish things could have been different, that I— I could have been better. There is a passage ahead lined with moss. There is no danger there. Stay the course, and look for crimson webs. We are sending word ahead to their master— to bid you safe passage— to get you to the surface." You soften your grimace, and look down to the halfling with so much sympathy. "Do you remember me speaking of Malimos before?"

The halfling sniffs, wiping her eyes, looking to you intently. She's so desperate to leave. "Y-yes. The spider, right?"

"Yes. He— it's okay to be afraid, Ofelia. You'll be home soon. Keep your weapons stowed. Listen to him if you must. He will not bring any harm to you if you stay your hands. Use your eyes. There is a steep slope straight to the surface, and another, longer passage back out to the woods of Corcaea. It may have changed since I last walked through the rubble and webs, but—" You turn your gaze down. Fishing through your bag, you search for some reassurance and comfort. "You are very, very close to getting home. Please, stay safe. There is nothing I could do to make up for everything that you've given to me, everything you've seen—"

There's a few pages in your journal. They were recently penned. The things you've been looking forward to. Things you wish you had said. Places you wish to return to.

A memory of the world above. You tear out the recipe— the one that your mother used to make. It's so simple, you know it by heart. Writing out the small sketch of her pots, pans, and a decorative crust in the shape of a fish was the most comfort you could give yourself while you rested alongside Ofelia's sleeping form. After weeks of suffering, her months of travel...

You don't want her to go home empty-handed. "It's... this really isn't much, but I'd like you to have it. It's— it's my favorite—"

The halfling tears the paper from your hands, rushing forward and taking you into a hug.

She's crying hysterically, and holds onto you so tightly you think she might be trying to break your legs. You don't mind. Placing a hand softly on her back, you try to remain respectful.

"That— this looks really nice, Richard—"

"I'm so sorry, Ofelia. For everything. Thank you for looking out for me. Please, get home safely."

"I will." She pulls back, sniffling, wiping her face with a handkerchief. It's so blackened with soot and ash that it smears across her face.

She starts crying even harder, tossing the item aside as she wipes the remnants of battle away with her cloak. It doesn't escape your attention that she neatly folds up recipe, and places it within her own bag with an extreme amount of care.

She turns to leave.

You catch her with your voice, one last time. "Ofelia."

Her cloak— weighed down as it is with blood and gore— hardly flows as she spins back around. "Yeah?"

"How—" You realize this is the first time you've ever really asked her a question, and the words get caught in your throat. You want to cry, and you choke out the rest, desperate to make things right. "How can I find you? If— if only— Mercy, if only to properly thank you—"

There's a storm at the corners of your eyes as she looks up to you. She's too hurt to smile, but you hear it in her voice.

"Don't."

The halfling turns back around, shoulders her equipment, and— trusting you to protect her— steps into the corridor beyond. There is no sound. No reassurance. No further reply.

She doesn't look back.

It's almost as if she was never there.

Ray is beside you, still. Your loyal mastiff leans on you, trying to give you some measure of comfort.

Yech the Archdemon— the lord, the killer and your friend— places a hand on your shoulder. It's slick with blood and decay as he tenses on you, trying to remain respectful while he murmurs, "fuck her. Got my fucking respect, damn good in a fight, but not fucking worth the trouble. Let her go."

There's no sound of her footsteps. No sight of her form.

There is battle raging below you, and a fight that you've sworn to partake in.

There's an ally on your shoulder, and another at your side. You are not alone, but you are devastated. You're torn. Every crack in your soul seems to show as you look to the corridor beyond.

You want to let her go.

You don't want to decide.

You want to be better.

You want a reprieve.

You want to respect her wishes, to uphold this last request.

You wait.

There are screams and the pounding of hundreds of steps beneath your feet.

There is a demon at your side, and your faithful mastiff. You turn back to your allies, your friends. The two men you know you can fight beside— who will protect you with everything they have.

Now is not the time for doubt, for speculation. This has to wait. I know what I want, but—

Your thoughts are stopped by a skeletal hand on your shoulder. Yech looks to you with no disgust. There's no judgement. He's so proud of you. "You'll be alright, Richard. Let's do this shit."

You tighten your grasp on your cane to kneel down, looking to your comrade, your ally, and your first in command. There is someone who has never strayed from your side. Who has followed you from the very beginning without complaint or question. He's pulled you from the brink of death, guarded you, and followed every command he's been given with silent devotion. You don't wait to show him your appreciation. You keep your back turned to the corridor beyond, and focus on the present. On who you know you can trust.

"Hey, boy." You take your free hand to scratch behind your dog's ears, pat his side, and giving him some sorely needed love and attention. You know he would never leave you. "Ray."

All 200lbs of muscle, teeth, and loyalty— that has been trained to tear into anything that might bring harm to you— gives you his full attention.

"You've been such a good boy. We've got one more fight in us, don't we?"