Following her hosts at what she judged to be a safe distance, Derzina walked through the downward sloping streets. After a long walk, they reached a large cavity within the earth filled almost entirely by an expansive tent of red fabric. There was no one else in sight, though a continuous burble of voices came from within the tent.

“Just follow our lead,” the human said, looking over his shoulder with a confident grin.

“I shall try,” Derzina said.

The demon pulled the tent flap aside, exposing the garishly dressed crowd within. They were clustered around a wide ring of gold, atop which perched a figure shrouded from head-to-toe in red.

“Is that the last of them?” the figure asked of no one in particular.

The crowd looked at the new arrivals, and a woman near the middle said, “That’s everyone, high priest.”

“Then let us begin the royal selection,” the high priest shouted, rising to her feet and towering above the crowd atop her platform. “To your positions, my beloved worthies.”

Everyone gathered around the ring and Derzina followed, mirroring them as they clutched handholds carved into it.

“Come now you children of Mortisflor,” sung the high priest, her voice sonorous and clear. “Let us dance our deepest devotion, that we might win her love evermore and drown within that splendid emotion.”

Still holding onto the ring, the crowd walked a slow circle as they sung their reply. “The new world’s glorious mother, by her power was it all remade.”

Spinning the ring along with the others, Derzina tried to keep in step as she wondered what they were doing.

“She slew the Demon King, no other,” continued the crowd, “on the edge of her great golden blade.”

“Only through her can be we eternal,” the high priest sung, gesticulating wildly atop her perch, “and transcend our meagre existence. That we might know true love maternal, we must shed all worldly resistance.”

The tempo steadily sped up, as did the spinning of the golden ring.

“Thus do we play the great royal game,” sung the crowd, “to honour her setting the world straight. For which she deserves the greatest fame, yet none know her beyond the red gate.”

“Faster!” the high priest shouted again and again, until those beneath her ran with reckless speed.

As they ran, the ring opened up and a long blade extended upward. Before Derzina could react, the blade speared down and impaled the man a few places ahead of her right through the chest. She cried out in surprise as the group came to a stumbling halt.

As the ring slowed, the blade retracted and the man fell to the floor twitching. Other than Derzina, no one seemed to pay him the slightest mind. Instead, they focused all their attention on the high priest up on her perch.

“You,” she said, pointing to a demon woman, “take this husk outside. When you return, we shall begin the choosing once more.”

As the demon dragged the heavily bleeding man away, the high priest addressed the others. “What luck, now you all have another opportunity to be chosen.”

The crowd let out a half-hearted cheer, appearing more bored than anything. Had they not just witnessed a man die? Did they not realise that any of them could have died in his place? Shaking off her initial disbelief, Derzina realized they were well aware of all of that; they simply didn’t care.

She knew madness could take several forms, but she hadn’t thought to encounter beings with such disregard for their lives and the lives of others.

“Is Mortisflor responsible for this?” Derzina asked, speaking inward. “Is her power blinding them to what’s happening?”

“If she is,” Atasimon said, “then I cannot sense it. As far as I can perceive, there is no trace of her magic upon them. The ring and the priest are both steeped in her magic, but they don’t appear to influencing the others.”

“Then they’re taking part in this appalling charade of their own free will?”

If this was the nature of the city Mortisflor had told them to experience, then Derzina wanted no part in it. Much as she hated the demons of the surface, she’d have preferred their company over the gang of lunatics around her.

“It appears so,” Atasimon said, “though I struggle to fathom it.”

The demons she knew were certainly evil, but at least she could comprehend some portion of their intent. They killed for conquest or vengeance; even killing for sport she understood more than spectacle before her. Here death seemed to happen for no reason and was of no concern to those involved.

Much as Derzina wished to leave, it was simply not an option. She doubted they could get out without Mortisflor’s approval and they still needed to find out how Meztraxia had acquired his power. If they left now, they would have accomplished nothing.

“Do you understand what has just occurred here?” Derzina asked aloud.

“What are you doing?” Atasimon demanded, within her head.

“If we must stay here, then I must try to stop to this,” Derzina replied in kind.

The high priest looked down at Derzina, expression concealed behind their enveloping robes.

“There has been a minor delay in the proceedings,” the priest said, “but resumption is imminent.”

“A man died here,” Derzina said. “Killed by us spinning this absurd ring around, and for what purpose?”

“For the grandest purpose of all; winning the favour of Mortisflor. Though fortune was not with him today and now he is nothing.”

“He’s still a person, even in death.”

The demon assigned to remove the corpse returned, and the high priest motioned for them to wait.

“I don’t know where you hail from stranger,” the priest said, “but I have never met a person with a blade through the heart. A person who cannot talk or walk is no person at all.”

She laughed and the crowd laughed with her, as if on cue.

“Even if he’s dead,” Derzina said, “he should still be treated with respect.”

“Respect?” the high priest asked, sounding as if she thought the idea wholly absurd. “He was not worthy of respect when he was alive, let alone now that he’s dead. None of us are. The dead are nothing, and the living only slightly more.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can people be nothing in your eyes? What would even be the point in living if that were the case?”

“To win Mortisflor’s favour, of course. That she might uplift us and bestow meaning upon our sorry existence. Even her high priests are devoid of value without the favour she bestows upon them.”

The high priest concluded by shaking her head and asking, “Were you not listening to the song?”

“I heard it, but it did nothing to explain or justify this behaviour.”

“No? Then understanding will come sooner or later, as it does for all who find their way to Merstaneon. Or perhaps you’ll die before then, it makes no difference.”

She turned away from Derzina and addressed the rest of the crowd. “I have tarried long enough with this fool, let us resume!”

Stunned by the sheer force of their conviction, Derzina moved out of the way. If they were intent on this mad ritual, she had no desire to be caught up in it. Yet she remained within the tent and did not avert her eyes as the ring began to spin once more. As much as their ritual horrified her, she couldn’t turn away.

“Now then,” the high priest said, “let’s pick up where we left off.”

As the crowd spun the ring once more, she resumed her song. “Bare all of that which makes her distraught, that she might burn away all our sin. So her will might be our only thought, that she might share that most wondrous grin.”

The crowd wasted no time in getting the ring up to speed this time and before they could continue the song, the blade extended once more and put a hole through the head of the demon who’d brought Derzina here.

A collective groan rose from the survivors and they were already dispersing when the high priest shouted, “A prince has been chosen!”

She climbed down and inspected the facedown body. “That is a man, isn’t it?”

“Yes, high priest,” the demon’s companion said, “his name was Loztet.”

“Then he is now Prince Loztet of Merstaneon, carry him and we shall proceed to the next choosing.”

“There’s still more to this?” Derzina asked.

“Oh, you’re still here,” the high priest said. “There is one final choosing beyond this, that we might have a new king.”

Derzina glanced at the corpse. “Then this dead man might be chosen as the king? What’s the point? You already said the dead have no value.”

“Ah, but he is not simply dead. He has been chosen by Mortisflor herself.”

“Has he?” Derzina asked, the demon looked like nothing more than a corpse to her. “He looks just as dead as the first one soon will be.”

“Of course he’s dead, it wouldn’t be much of a choosing otherwise. Only those willing to give up their lives could possibly be worthy of Mortisflor’s favour.”

“Then why does he need to go through this second choosing if he’s already worthy?”

“Because he needs to be doubly worthy to be king. Now, enough questions. I have more important things to do than listen to you blather on with this nonsense.”

“Fine,” Derzina said, “then let’s proceed to the final choosing.”

She could understand the high priest’s irritation, Derzina was getting awfully sick of talking to them herself. It seemed unlikely this next event would make any more sense, but at least she would be able to see this through to the end. If all the other candidates were dead, then it would make for a more pleasant spectacle than the one she’d just witnessed.

“You may attend,” the high priest said, “if you must. We’ll likely have plenty of room if the other choosings went anything like this one.”

The tent was empty but for the high priest, Derzina and her two hosts. It seemed the citizens of Merstaneon had lost interest in the proceedings now that someone had been chosen. Derzina more or less understood that, but she still had no idea why anyone would want to be chosen in the first place.

Though Derzina was no stranger to devotion, the manner in which Mortisflor’s followers expressed their faith was utterly alien to her. Was Mortisflor so fond of death that that she demanded it of her followers simply for her own entertainment?

If so, then she was even more monstrous than Derzina had thought. Contrary to all the evidence she’d witnessed thus far, part of Derzina still believed that there was a reason for all this beyond mad hedonism. How else could this city have survived? Surely no god be so heedless. Mortisflor had once been a peer of Atasimon and Ortesia, some semblance of her former divinity must remain within her. Or so Derzina hoped.