Meanwhile, on the other side of Hell…

“How are you?”

Houyi knew who it was by the words alone, never mind that warm tone, nearly wispy, like a candle in a breeze.

“I am confined in a prison of Void Iron. In solitary confinement. Reduced to a ghost of myself, stripped of my weapon, bound in a Space of No Law,” he sighed.

“Ah...” Houyi could hear the wince. “What a silly thing to ask. I’m sorry,” said the voice.

“That’s quite alright.” Something tiny tugged at the corner of Houyi’s lips. In the right light it might have even been mistaken for a sardonic grin. “It is refreshing. In a thousand years only twice have I been asked how I am. Both times it was you, Fate.”

He turned as much as his body allowed, suppressing the urge to cringe as a lightning-bolt of pain branched up his limbs. They were bound by obsidian chains, which were bound to an obsidian wall. These chains absorbed all Law the way a lightning rod absorbs electricity—directing it into Nothing, dispersing it. These Chains, themselves legendary treasures, could render even a Godking impotent. That was their job.

They were wound across Houyi’s chest, legs, arms, and neck like a boa constrictor.

The room that was his prison so black you could hardly make out its corners and creases—where the floor stopped and the walls began. There were no windows. There was no door. It felt a little like floating in nothing. A week in here was apt to drive a lesser man insane.

But Houyi had floated in nothingness, perched on his island, for millennia. That had been in his split up form. Still, though, he knew the face of loneliness. He knew how to coax it to a smile.

“I can’t stay long. And this may be the only visit I pay you! But I felt… I felt I owed you this much. You ought to know.” Fate was a flicker of soft light. An astral projection bowing to the waist. “I am gathering an army, great Houyi. The threat of Jez has overtaken the Northern Disc of Hell! Even now he marches to conquer the rest. The demon warlords of the South grow restless. I have secured a loose alliance of Tribes and Kingdoms, spearheaded by the conquerer Ta’Alach. The Gargoyle Fleet have given us their bond. So have the Rocs’ High Roost and the Molten Brotherhood. We aim to march on Jez’s empire before the moon is out.”

Fate swallowed. “We shall spring you free, with luck.”

Houyi chuckled. “There is no such thing. You, of all men, should know this.”

“Perhaps to you, dear Houyi. But the rest of us only know so much! We must cling to fortune—at least to the illusion of fortune. It shall be sorely needed. I know not, for instance, the true depths of Jez’s reserves—though I suspect he has in store armies that double our number! I have heard whispers of a resurrection of King Yama. There is much to overcome…and that is not to mention the Kingdom of Ur—the largest of the Demon Kingdoms, which has thus far been most hostile to my entreaties…” Fate trembled, but his eyes were bright with determination. “But I shall convince them. We shall unify the rest of the Southern Disc. We shall take back Hell, and free you too. For the good of the Multiverse! This I promise you!”

“I believe you,” said Houyi. “Or—rather—I believe that you believe you. This is a compliment.”

Fate blinked. “…Thank you?”

“Mm.” Houyi closed his eyes. “I am well, by the way.”

“What?”

“You asked how I was.” Houyi gave a ghost of a smile. “Well. Despite the circumstances. Thank you for asking.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“And where is my brother? How is he?”

“Last time we met, he was still alive. If all went well he should be in the Swamp of the Damned by now…I believe he is chasing the Dao Fruit. I cannot be certain.”

“Mm,” said Houyi again. “Flip a coin. That is the odds that he will succeed.”

Fate did a double-take. “That high?! Truly?”

“He is my brother,” said Houyi, as if that explained everything. “And if he succeeds there… I rather suspect the Kingdom of Ur is the next stop on his run.”

“Really? The Million-Man Graveyard is nearby, and that is full of treasures too. He might make a route to Mount Vitriol—“

“I know his mind. He will go to Ur. And when he arrives…” Houyi snorted. “I suspect, too, that your quarrel with them will be taken care of, one way or another.”

“Err—I must confess I do not follow.”

“If there is one thing my brother is good at, it is wreaking utter havoc.” That ghost of a smile again. “If he survives the Swamp, you may rest assured. Whether he lives or dies in the effort, that Kingdom will be in tatters.”

***

Swamp of the Damned.

If Houyi saw the circumstances Dorian faced now he might have recanted his coin-flip prediction. He might have put it at less than one in ten.

Dorian, stood frozen before that half-step Empyrean coiling dragon, might put it at even less! But his perception might be a little skewed, on the account of the fact that he was shitting himself. The able speedrunner, however, was also a skilled multitasker. One very loud part of his brain was shitting himself. The other was thinking furiously.

There was simply nowhere to run. Ahead was a veritable minefield; there was a reason Dorian stepped lightly through the Swamp. One misstep meant a horrible, tentacled death. To either side were deep death-pools. There was no flying over them; that meant running into vines crawling with insects. Insects that’d swarm you in an instant—and give away your presence to the things lurking in the depths…

Compared to facing the coiling dragon those all seemed tame.

Then again, with how fast coiling dragons could move, they very well might need to face it sooner or later anyways…

“What do we do?!” whispered Sun.

“Ass. Pull. Now.”

“On it!”

It was a game. He had to think of it as one, to shut up the part of him that was breaking out into a torrid sweat, to see things in a cold clear light. Him against the dragon. Pseudo-god against Half-step Empyrean. What were his pieces? There was Sun, shivering to his side. There were the adventurers out in front. Then there was the environment. What could he make use of? Not the bogs. The vines—perhaps?

His own words floated back to him. ‘You’re dueling a man on a tightrope. What’s the easiest path to victory?’

All this raced through his mind in the span of a blink. There was some plan here, niggling at the edge of his mind. But there was no time, even with his Serpent’s Senses. For noxious fumes had started to leak from the coiling dragon’s mouth. Qi and Law steamed around it. Whatever it was about to unleash could not be allowed into the world.

His Javelin raced through the air at the speed of thought. In the same instant—“Mage! Blind the eyes!” He roared, loud as he could. Startled, her eyes flickered over him and his arching javelin in a shard of a second, saw that he, too, stood in the path of the attack. In his words were an implicit plea for an alliance.

It was a stroke of luck she listened. There was no time to question it. She threw out her hands and a grim shroud descended. The dragon opened wide, rearing to spew a boiling glut of qi.

Darkness clouded its eyes. Dorian’s Fang, tipped with Laws of Fire, pierced the roof of the dragon’s mouth. The timing was perfect.

It was comical how little it did. Even a clean strike at a soft fleshy part barely went in—like a splinter burrowing an inch beneath skin. All it did was irritate.

Thank Heavens it was enough to throw off the shot. A sewer’s worth of toxins showered over their heads. Gunk met canopy. There was a horrible screeching tearing. From the ground it looked like a hole was gouged in the fabric of the sky. Dozens of cicadas, all Demigods, cooked inside their shells in an instant. Liquified. The leaves they hung on, and the branches they were attached to—suddenly sludge.

“Shield!” cried one of the adventurers. Dorian had already brought his up.

Sludge splattered like a meteor shower. A small chunk clipped Dorian’s Void Shield. Even that, a tiny speck of aftermath, slashed his qi by a tenth. The rest splattered the bog, hissing and plunking, vanishing into the deep.

The coiling dragon snorted a plume of smoke. Its beady eyes met Dorian’s.

“Quick!” roared Dorian. “While it’s recharging! Counter! Aim for the eyes!” He and the adventurers struck as one.

Law blurred over Law. Darkness. Fire. Poison. Force. A half-dozen forces of godly might surged at the the dragon.

It hardly hurt the beast at all! Its scales were on par with that of an adult Torchdragon. Perhaps even greater. Their strikes pitter-pattered away like rainwater bouncing off a roof, and all it seemed to do was make the thing madder. It backed up, blinking filmy eyes, loosing a guttural howl.

But it was backing up. Like an ox harried away by a swarm of gadflies. Its eyes seemed unused to so much light. It was a dweller of the depths of the Swamp. It did not take well to flashes.

“Hells. We’re winning,” croaked the minotaur in disbelief. “We’re… we’re driving it back!”

Ludicrous of course. He was celebrating far too early. They weren’t hurting the thing; at best they were buying time, shining a little sun in its eyes. But the sentiment seemed to spread to his partners. The mouse creature gave a little whoop. “To the depths with you, Hellspawn!” It squealed, suddenly gleeful. Two blasts of bright qi shot from its mouth, striking at the dragon’s eyes. It took another half-step back, snarling, shaking its head like a wet dog. Even the Dark Elf’s shoulders sagged with relief. Far too premature.

“To think,” it whispered. “Such a mighty creature. Yet such a mundane weakness.”

Now came the tricky bit.

Dorian’s alliance with these fellows was entirely circumstantial. They had a common enemy. If they succeeded in driving it back fully, what then?

In the mortal realms perhaps they might be grateful he helped save them. They might all become chums! But this was Hell. So they would definitely try to kill him. It was a question of when.

In this, as in timing that Fang at the dragon, timing was crucial. Of course he had to double-cross them before they double-crossed him. But it had to be after they were sure they’d driven off the dragon, and not a moment too soon—or they were all fucked.

The dragon’s snout slowly receded between the treeline. A breath passed. Then another. They all stared at the spot. Nothing.

Still, Dorian dared not let his guard down. He kept his eyes trained on the spot where it had vanished. He kept his nose sharp. The rest of the adventurers seemed content to relax. The minotaur collapsed to a knee, heaving hard breaths. The Dark Elf sagged on her staff, looking utterly spent.

“Friend!” It was the vampire, turning to grin at Dorian. “On behalf of the Scythes of Ur let me say—we are much obliged for your timely help.”

The creature could hardly keep from licking his lips. It was the case with vampires especially: they were drawn to powerful Bloodlines like a fat man to dessert. Especially a hungry vampire—a vampire that’d just expended all its energies… a vampire in dire need of refueling…

“Please,” he whispered, slurring his ’s’. “Allow me the honor of repaying you...“ It took a step closer. In the same instant Dorian smelled something foul on the air.

“No, no!” snapped Dorian. “Not yet—turn, fool! The dragon’s still—“

The vampire lunged. Exasperated, Dorian did too. He was faster. His fist landed first. The vampire made a surprised gurgling noise, then flipped twice to land nimbly on its feet. Its cruel red eyes narrowed. A huge bow and arrow were in his hands, fashioned out of sudden smoke.

“Good,” it hissed. “Resist! It only makes the blood ever-sweeter—“

A blur of massive motion—a lunge from somewhere in the distance. Tree-trunks snapping under the force. The blur thrust forward, hardly slowed. CRUNCH.

Then he saw realization dawn on its pale face. It whirled around to see the limp lower half of its minotaur friend dangling between two rows of gleaming teeth.

The Dark Elf snapped upright, to her credit. Darkness fell—

Poison Laws ripped through it. The coiling dragon was no fool—it knew to defend its weaknesses. And this time it was not caught by surprise. The Elf braced with all her qi left. Peak Darkness Laws made a wall before her. Then the gunk blast gushed over it all.

When it sloshed away there was nothing left. Not even bones.

At last the dragon turned with agonizing slowness to face Dorian.

If Houyi saw the circumstances Dorian faced now he wouldn’t bother giving odds.