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Chapter 180
🕑 Added 2024-05-20 19:26:48 +0000 UTCUPMC Presbyterian, The Pitt - 12:04 PM
I ran the edge of my sword against the hospital walls as I approached the screaming Demon. From the sounds of it, Mercury had done as instructed and ruined several pieces of Pustibule’s equipment with the can of Rust-It I had given him. From the fact that he was still yelling, I took it on good faith that any quick and easy suicide options were now off the table.
This wasn’t the time to get complacent, however. I had put the Glove of the Warmongering Mystic back into my hand and donned the Guaranteed Strike Mitt. Back in Etson, Pustibule didn’t have Jeremiah posted nearby during the final battle and I always figured it was because the Demon was planning suicide if things didn’t work out. He had a lifeline because he could be resummoned, after all.
I finally found Pustibule angrily screaming obscenities in a large room. Before, the Demon had been about the size of a Great Dane with red-striped, obsidian skin. His arms had been huge in relation to his body while his legs were tiny, and he had often held himself up with his hands.
Now, his body was shriveled and misshapen as if he had been through several accidents. Many of his crooked teeth were missing, and there was a sunken quality to his face. This was the backlash of shaving off parts of his soul to rush the Demonization process. In this state, he was missing a lot of his power. That probably made the decision to boost the players he had corrupted fairly easy.
A quick scan of the room showed that everything near him was rusted and unusable, including the surgical suite he kept on his back, some machine he was plugged into, and the collar around his neck. It crumbled as Pustibule pounded the ground with a massive hand. Whatever device had dampened my psychic powers was still in effect, however, so it must not have been something on him.
Mercury was nowhere to be seen, but the Demon was screeching upwards at a missing ceiling tile. The plan had worked perfectly.
“I will drag you onto a slab and cut you open with a-” he immediately cut off as I walked into the room. He looked me over before his eyes focused on the Scalpel of Angelic Healing. “You self-righteous feathered bastard!”
“Hello, Pustibule,” I greeted coldly. I headed right for him. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
The Demon scrambled backwards, holding up his hand. “Don’t you come any closer, Angel!” he yelled, though he was without fear. Pustibule fell, and the surgical tool broke into several pieces. “I don’t know how you managed to-“
I cut the doctor off by slamming my foot down on his stomach. Gently, of course; I didn’t know how much punishment he could take in this state and I needed to make good on some promises.
Without letting up pressure, I bent down and slashed with the Scalpel of Angelic Healing. Pustibule screamed and struggled as his arm was cut off, left to lie limply at his side.
“You damned goody two-“
“Shoes?” I interrupted. “That sounds like a request. I’m happy to oblige.”
I spun Pustibule without removing my foot and aimed for his flailing legs. Just as I had promised, my sword sliced through right beneath the knees. There was very little resistance, but I felt satisfied nonetheless. If he wanted to weaken himself and put his body on a platter for me, then I wasn’t about to spurn his sacrificial gift.
Pustibule screamed in rage and pain as he struck me with his one good arm over and over again. I could feel him doing damage, but it was a negligible amount compared to what I had taken fighting his corrupted players.
“Call your pet sniper,” I ordered, putting my blade against his other arm.
“No!” he yelled, body trembling. “No, no, I won’t.”
“Call. Him.” I sunk the sword into his bicep.
Pustibule screamed before clamping his mouth shut. “Should an Angel be torturing someone?” he asked defiantly through gritted teeth. “That’s not very holy of you.”
“See, that’s your problem, Pustibule. You think I’m an Angel,” I said coldly. “I’m not. I’m a Human. I’m petty, vindictive, and very willing to cross some lines. If you want this to end, then you need to call your pet. Now.”
Instead of calling for Jeremiah, which I figured had been a 50-50 chance to begin with, Pustibule rebelled against my demands by laughing. I pressed down a little harder on his chest, but he shook his head. “I’m not going to deliver you one of my lifelines, Anthony Franklin,” he spat. “Go ahead and kill me. I’ll be back again soon. So soon.”
“He’s the only thing that can save you from a permanent grave. I’m only going to be this gracious for so long,” I said.
Pustibule coughed. “You may have purified my scalpel, but that dinky toy won’t be enough to stop me.”
“Yes, I know. The only way to kill you for good is to drag you down to Hell and do it there. What do you think my plan was? Cut off your head and hope for the best? I’ve already seen how well that worked out back in Etson.”
For the first time, Pustibule’s eyes widened with more than just pain. Now, they showed fear. “There’s no way that’s true. You’re bluffing,” he whispered. “An Angel wouldn’t go to Hell! No, no. You’re not powerful enough to survive down there!”
“Not an Angel, Human,” I reiterated before squatting down, getting closer to his face. “Last chance. He might be able to save you, after all.”
There was a long pause between us before he shook his head. “No. You’re bluffing,” Pustibule repeated. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, me or himself. “Even if you manage to step foot into Hell, your very nature will gather hundreds to assault you. You’d never be able to escape!”
“While likely true, that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I said, grinning at the Demon. “Petty, vindictive, and very willing to cross some lines, remember?”
Taking my hand out of the Guaranteed Strike Mitt, I reached down and grabbed Pustibule by the neck. The rage I felt from Demonic contact hit me, but not as strongly as I expected it to. I hadn’t even thought of it at the time, but touching Olivia hadn’t made me want to kill her immediately, either. That was good progress.
Pustibule struggled to scream, but couldn’t with me choking him. That was fine by me; he didn’t have anything important to say, anyway. He started beating on my arm with his one good one, but I ignored it.
Black blood had pooled beneath him from his wounds, but I was sure he’d survive long enough to make it to our destination. Stowing the scalpel between my pants and belt, I retrieved the Relocation Grenade marked HM. It was already active, so I only had a short time before we teleported.
“See you soon, Mercury,” I called as the grenade activated a moment later.
Pustibule and I, as well as a bunch of medical gear from the hospital, were teleported far away. Just like Pittsburgh, the area we now found ourselves in was covered in a blanket of snow, giving the woods a bleak, gray look. The trees all around us were missing their leaves in the winter cold, and I stood in front of an iron gate that looked very out of place.
Thankfully, whatever device had been messing with my psychic powers did not come with us. I was able to Drop a nearby branch, snapping it in half. It felt good to have control of my powers again.
And then my mood was ruined all over again when I received my next screen.
[[Victory!]]
You have defeated x93 Demonic Plague Zombies; +930 points.
You have murdered Player [Derek Hoffman]; +297 points.
You have murdered Player [Leslie Tallow-Davis]; +345 points.
You have murdered Player [Devin Kerr]; +177 points.
You have murdered Player [Ramsey Gross]; +53 points.
You have contributed to the murder of Player [Lester Rose]; +13 (87) points.
You have contributed to the murder of Player [David Manning]; +94 (524) points.
You have murdered Deputy Guildmaster [Olivia Hunt]; +2 points.
I snapped away the victory screen in disgust. The only gains I got from taking the lives of other players was half of the points they had at the moment of their death. However, the more you murdered, the more you would get per kill. With just a few more, I would be offered half of what they had saved while also getting a portion of what they spent on stat and ability increases.
It could become very lucrative very quickly. Thankfully, most people who had managed to kill someone else, whether accidentally or on purpose, didn’t make it past the threshold to be offered more per murder. And those that did were often quickly dealt with. Any who were more discreet ended up being several times more powerful than the people around them, and those were my usual target in these runs.
[[Patron Message]]
You did it! I knew you could, but this is very exciting!
You’re about to find out that our ring has some options that you hadn’t known about when I gave it to you. I wasn’t expecting you to have to go into Hell this early, and I could only put extra skills and passives on the ring if they had hidden activation conditions.
It will be one of my greatest gifts to you and your goal. I hope you understand when it starts working.
Alright, that’s enough from me. Good job and get moving!
Sincerely,
Sara
This message almost completely pulled me out of my funk, especially the part about Esaraphelscion’s Love getting a new ability. Blowing air out of my mouth and watching it come out visible in the frigid air, I raised my struggling captive to eye level.
“Here in Hellam Township, there’s an urban legend about the Seven Gates of Hell. It’s one that I researched quite extensively,” I said conversationally as I pushed the gate open and walked inside.
Once he realized what I was talking about, Pustibule struggles became more frantic, and I was forced to grab his arm while I continued to choke him.
“No, really, it’s pretty interesting,” I continued. “It’s all a bunch of malarkey, of course. In some versions, it has to do with a mental institution that caught on fire. The worst of the worst, you know? Murderers, rapists, etcetera. Since it’s out here in the middle of nowhere, there were problems reaching it. Several patients died, and those who did escape were bad enough that they got beaten to death while trying to flee.”
We came across a second gate deeper into the forest. It wasn’t attached to a fence or anything, and I pushed this one open with my foot. There was no sound as it swung on its hinges, but I could already feel that we were approaching a dangerous place. That was new; I had snuck into Hell this way a few times, but feeling it as a Half-Angel was different in many ways.
“The gates were put up in order to trap the inmates they couldn’t catch,” I explained, turning Pustibule so that he could watch where we were going. He continued to fight, blood flying from his stumps, and I held firm. I wasn’t worried about him escaping in his emaciated state whatsoever. “The legend goes on to say that the gates kept the souls of the dead from passing on. The violence of their deaths was magnified by their hatred and anger, which caused a rift to Hell to open."
The third gate came quicker than the second. Just like the last one, there was no fence around it. If you didn’t go through it, then the route wouldn’t work. As we stepped through, I started seeing shadowy figures walking through the trees. Their paths were aimless, though they didn’t come close to us.
“A second version of the urban legend involves a doctor,” I stated as we walked towards the fourth. Turning Pustibule towards me, I looked him in the eye. “A real doctor, mind. Not like whatever you’re claiming to be.”
Pustibule seemed to take offense to that, because he started to fight harder against me. Either that, or he could count the seconds to his demise. It was swiftly approaching.
“He actually did exist. From what I understand, he was a very kind man. That makes for a terrible story, though, so that’s not what was passed down,” I said as I used Pustibule’s face to open the next door. He tried to cling onto the sturdy metal bars with his one arm, but I was able to pull him away easily.
“The doctor in legend lost his mind, becoming deranged. Psychotically dangerous,” I continued. “In his last moments of clarity he built seven gates to prevent people from entering his property. Or, perhaps, keeping them here.”
I paused at the fifth gate and looked around. The shadows were starting to become more corporeal and strayed closer to the path, though none of them headed straight for us. In the distance, I could hear faint screams. Those got louder as I opened the gate and continued on my way.
“Which never made sense to me,” I said when I started moving again. “Putting up gates isn’t a few moments of clarity kind of job but days worth of work. That’s really just a nitpick, though. Before, it was fine. There was no reason to worry about urban legends until the system came along and the administrators decided to make most of them actual things.”
Waving my arm, I turned Pustibule’s face towards the shadow people. “As you could probably guess, they went with the inmate version of the story. Which is good for me, because I really don’t want to deal with another doctor. You’ve soured me on them forever.”
The Demon made a strangled noise.
“Yeah, I bet the feeling’s mutual, little guy,” I said condescendingly as I stopped in front of the sixth gate.
The screams were louder, almost sounding as if they were on the other side of this particular door. That was almost the truth. Once we passed through the seventh, we would be in Hell.
It was strange; I could actually feel my wings and halo despite not being in Angel mode. It almost seemed like they were begging me to free them, but I knew better. That would be an unnecessary use of Mental Points with nothing to fight.
Stretching my legs, I tucked Pustibule under my arm. I didn’t dare let him go, but I needed to be fast for this part. According to the legends, the space between the sixth and seventh gate was where most people went missing. The shadows were starting to look at us now, though they weren’t aggressive yet.
Mentally counting down from three, I rammed the gate with my shoulder. It opened as I burst through, and I immediately had to jump and gain more height with an Air Step.
A group of shadowy figures had lunged at me the moment I stepped through the gate. Their features were more defined than they had been previously, and a cacophony of screams came from their open mouths. To my luck, they had one track minds and weren’t fast. They attempted to get through the open gate only to run into an invisible wall.
I reached the other side of the group and hit the ground running. By the time they realized they couldn’t escape, I was ducking and weaving through a much thinner crowd. The ones in the back hadn’t realized yet that they couldn’t leave, which was my saving grace. The way back was going to be harder since they would know there was no getting out of this place.
The last gate wasn’t far, and I rammed my way through it. My hands almost clenched at how terrible the atmosphere felt, but I managed to only tighten the grip I had on Pustibule’s arm and not his neck. His choked screams became louder as the scenery changed to an oppressively Demonic one.
Gone was the winter forest, neatly cleared path, and the shadows of psychotic inmates. It was replaced by a deep red sky, toxic green clouds, black mountains, and a surprisingly Human-looking city in the distance. The smell of brimstone permeated this place, assaulting my senses so strongly to the point where I could hardly remember the scent of anything else.
[[Notice]]
You have entered Hell for the first time.
A hidden option of Esaraphelscion’s Love, the Armor of the End passive, has been revealed.
Before I had a chance to process what was going on, a bright flash of white light impeded my vision. I involuntarily entered my Angelic form while my clothes disappeared in an instant, replaced by something much sturdier. Once I could see again, I looked at my arms and marveled at the feeling.
The Angelic power coursing through my veins was more than I was used to, comparable to that of a mid-game player. I was far more complete than I had been, and I could feel my wings as tangible appendages instead of ghostly ones. They emerged from holes in the equipment I now wore.
My body was clad in pearl white full plate armor with golden trim from head to toe. The fact that it was modeled after Sara’s chosen armor was not lost on me, and that made sense given the name of the passive.
Realizing that it was a passive and not a skill gave me a moment of pause. I swiped open my menu to look at my Status screen and was surprised to see that my Mental Points weren’t ticking down. A quick check of the passive showed it as being written in Enochian, but the passive’s potential was not lost on me.
In Hell, I could permanently use Break Free. It cost me nothing.
Putting aside my enthusiasm for my new toy, I wasted no time. I slammed Pustibule to the ground, one hand around his neck and my knee pinning down his arm. His strength was returning now that he was back home, but I wasn’t worried about it anymore. Even if he hadn’t destroyed his own soul in an attempt to ruin my life, I felt as though I would have been able to pin him with my newfound power.
A part of me wanted to be dramatic. To say a few words about how good it would feel to put Pustibule down for good. That nobody messed with Anthony Fucking Franklin. Ask if he really thought this outcome was worth it.
But a larger part of me knew that would be performative at best. Nothing I said was going to get through to him. I would be wasting my breath. There was no one here except me, the Demon I was about to end, and my Angelic Patron watching over us. This gate didn’t even have a Cerberus guarding it. We were alone.
And the son of a bitch didn’t deserve any mercy or last words, anyway.
With my free hand, I pulled the Scalpel of Angelic Healing from my belt. It had remained in its Demon Slayer form thanks to Pustibule’s presence, and it shined with a holy light. Knowing that I was basically a beacon here in Hell for anyone paying attention, I raised the sword high and stared into my enemy’s wide, panic-stricken eyes.
“That’s the wrong decision, Angel,” came a deep voice between us and the gate. “Release my vessel and step away.”
My head swiveled towards it to see a tall Demon with large horns, gray skin, and a dozen arms growing out of his sides and back. All but one held various tools that wouldn’t be out of place in workshops or doctor’s offices. Hammers, flasks, cutting tools, and more. The empty hand flexed as if it wanted to hold onto something.
The Demon had the same face as Pustibule, but it was more refined. Sculpted. Handsome, almost. When he arrogantly smiled at me, showing his teeth, they were sharp, white, and straight.
“The fuck I will,” I responded, unmoving. Demons with this level of humanoid qualities were not to be trifled with lightly, and I watched carefully.
“I am the owner of that vessel you currently threaten,” he answered, his tone implying that he was bored.
Mentally, I cursed my bad luck. Demons that were too powerful to emerge onto Earth had to resort to using vessels filled with a fragment of their soul power. They could have gone to Washington D.C. like the others, but likely didn’t want to be trapped there in the dome.
“You’re the real Pustibule,” I stated. Movement caught my attention, and I saw more Demons begin to surround us. These were the misshapen masses that I had been expecting, though they gave us a wide berth.
A grin blossomed on his face. “I have been called many names. The Sculptor of Bodies, the Soul Shaver, the da Vinci of Hell,” he listed. “But, if you want a proper title, then I am the Demon Lord of Invention, Pustibule. A displeasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Anthony Franklin.”
I froze for a moment when he introduced himself as a Demon Lord; they were some of the strongest entities Hell had to offer. This had become much more dangerous than I had planned for things to be. The Dealer had been right to be suspicious about the lack of information, and I had grown complacent.
Wracking my brain, I realized I hadn’t heard his name before, though I had heard whispers of the Soul Shaver and Sculptor of Bodies. If I had fought him before in any of my runs, he must not have been powerful enough to remember despite being a Demon Lord. I wasn’t about to treat him as though he were lying, but having a title tying him to something like Invention might have been because he was a non-combatant. Strong, but not nearly enough to handle an end-game level player.
My mind shifted gears. Sara hadn’t said anything yet, but I knew she was watching. If she hadn’t warned me to leave, then she knew something that I didn’t. The quest was to kill Pustibule for good, after all, and now he was standing beside me.
As my thoughts raced, I looked down at my captive. A feeling of absolute disgust washed over me as I saw the smug satisfaction on his face. He was technically a separate entity from the Demon Lord, but he thought that he was safe. I made my decision.
Out of all the things he could be, safe wasn’t close to being on the table.
I plunged Pustibule’s purified scalpel directly into his vessel’s skull. The Demon died unceremoniously and without fanfare.
It was still better than he deserved.
[[Victory!]]
You have defeated the Dormant Hidden Boss [Demonic Doctor Pustibule] in Hell; +0 points.
[[Notice]]
You have killed a Demon in Hell.
A hidden option of Esaraphelscion’s Love, the Angelic Ascension passive, has been revealed.
[[Notice]]
You have permanently killed a Demonic Vessel, offering 100 points to Angelic Ascent. The fire of your soul has been fed.
There was no Patron quest complete screen. I barely had enough time to read the contents of the many screens when the world around me lit up with a light so brilliant that I could only compare it to the first time I saw Sara in the Hall of the End. Everything went white all over again as power surged within me.
Taking a leap of faith, I began charging my Dragon’s Breath.
Comments
Andrew Nichols
Less than I wanted, more than Pustibule deserved. Also, screw Demon Lord, still needs to be put down
