Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 16 - Lead III
🕑 Added 2025-02-12 16:00:13 +0000 UTCStarken’s corpse struggled to its feet, the devil wearing it maneuvering bloated flesh with disgusting proficiency. Legs wobbled as it took a step closer, mutated bone and muscle not able to stand if diabolic will didn’t drive it. The strange liquid poured from every pore now, and while her body had given off not a peep of diabolism when prodded with my focus, now the energy being pumped into the slime was so thick I could feel it through the air.
“Ignore the corpse,” I warned, falling back to where everyone else had gathered by the doors. “The liquid is the real threat, not the puppet.”
That’s all Starken was now.
Slime coalesced, forming tentacles of ooze that lifted Starken’s corpse in the air as the laugh continued. Her jaw wrenched open, snapping as the possessing devil stretched it beyond the breaking point. A fat, swollen tongue licked razor-sharp teeth covered in dry blood while the old human ones fell to the ground below.
I relaxed just a tad. If it was acting solely like an animal, it wouldn’t be too dangerous. Just don’t let it touch anyone but me.
Still, it had laughed, so capable of speech. I glanced down at the ground and spotted a thin tendril.
A lance of light shot from Gregory’s hands, and the tip of it disintegrated. The rest of it recoiled, sending a bench flying as it pulled back.
Starken’s lifeless gaze turned to stare at me, the guttural laughter turning into the language of the Hells.
“An interesting company you keep, Daughter of a Duke. Surely your father’s daughter with your betrayal of family.”
I’d learned this language mostly for the damn summonings. Rusty as I was, the only difficult part was the sound of words feeling like nails dragging along the insides of my ears. “Definitely intelligent,” I said in Anglish, before switching to Infernal. “I claim no father from your realm, you repugnant puppeteer. Piss off.”
The Devil hissed a dry laugh as it’s puppet moved closer, tendrils snaking out of the puddle of leaked fluids.
“Away, Foulhorn,” Gallaspie said dismissively. “Keep this thing’s tendrils from reaching beyond the door.”
“He is right,” Derrick added. “Leave the creature to us.”
I was about to protest when Gallaspie exploded into white light. My eyes shut, tears already streaming as I cussed out the priest for deciding to do that. My skin felt like sandpaper was rubbing on it.
I forced open tear-filled eyes just in time to see Gallaspie lunge forward, a greatsword formed of that white light in his hands.
Tendrils of slime rose to meet him, and in a pair of slashes, they fell apart, falling onto the ground below in a splash.
Derrick gestured, and the ground beneath Starken broke open, a pair of chains lashing around the corpse’s list. They pulled until they ripped the limbs off. Skin split, flesh parted, bones broke apart at the joints as the two arms fell to the ground.
The devil shrieked and tried batting Gallaspie with another tendril only for the old man to move his hands, that blinding sword appearing once again. I saw the tendril dissolve, white light racing up its liquid surface to Starken’s corpse before the white light forced my gaze away.
The corpse-puppet lunged towards us when I looked back, only for Derrick to rush forward, hand closing around its neck. The corpse stopped, shrieking as a sickle formed in Derrick’s other hand.
She plunged it right into the corpse’s forehead.
“You are dead, Leliel,” Derrick said sorrowfully. “Let your body not be violated beyond your passing.”
The body was limp, the demon inside snarling and roaring from inside but it’s puppeterring of the corpse had ended. It could only yell defiance before Gallaspie drove a blade of shining light right into the puppet’s face.
It shrieked, the corpse-puppet glowing bright light out of every orifice.
“I can’t hold it much longer Matthew,” Derrick warned.
“I’m aware,” he said, letting go of the sword. “Back. Quickly.”
The two of them backed away, Gallaspie kneeling down. I went to move forward, only for Voltar to grab my arm.
“Might not be best,” he warned, and then the roof above the devil shuddered, then shattered as light poured in from above. Nothing but white, and now my eyes screamed as I stumbled backward.
My hands reached through a potion while the devil’s shriek was like a knife in both ears.
The soothing sensation of the potion beginning to work helped ease the dry riverbed my throat had become. Even still, each gulp felt like swallowing sand. Damnable Light and its effects!
Leliel’s corpse lay half-buried by the rubble of the roof, hands futilely reaching for an escape. The corpse was completely motionless, frozen in place. I heard just on the edge of what I could catch, a shriek of rage and despair.
The devil, screaming out of frustration in its last moments on this plane as it was sent hurtling to its home.
I stared at the corpse, then at the hole in the ceiling, then at Gallaspie standing over the body, an actual physical sword in his hand, not just one of light. It shined, and just looking at it made my still sore eyes ache.
“Your tongue threatens to leave its home, devil,” he told me irritably. “Did you think me simply a tired old man?”
I shut my jaw with an audible clack. I tried to think of what to say, only to blank. The frightening realization that if that sword was turned on me, I couldn’t stop it? That tended to make any snappy remarks leave my head.
Divine magic. Clearly more powerful than I’d expected. Although from the similarly shocked expression on Gregory’s face, these two might be outliers.
“A possessed devil,” Derrick noted, looking down at the corpse with an expression of disgust. “It must have been summoned by the killer. Eliminate all traces of the corruption, leave no one to suspect the devil hiding within.”
Possession was an old tool of devils, although typically it involved a willing host. Or one whose mind the Devils as certain could be shackled to its whims. A dead body was a case I had never heard of before now.
“Clever trick,” Voltar noted, looking down at the top half of Starken protruding from the collapsed rubble. “Very clever.”
Gallaspie snorted. “Clever? The creature died before it could accomplish any havoc. Not very clever at all.”
“It died because it knew the jig was up, my dear Bishop,” Voltar said. “I will admit to being at a little of a loss for why it thought producing so much of this slime was a good idea though.”
“No experience,” I said, poking some of the inert slime with my Diabolic focus. No reaction, but there hadn’t been any earlier. What was this?
“Could you elaborate, Miss Harrow?”
“Just a theory,” I said. “Based on something Gregory said about the goal of the Diabolism program. Researching the hells because we know so little of what is going on there. The same goes in reverse. Powerful devils, they can still scry. Lesser ones like this? If they haven’t been here for a while, why not think a trick that probably worked in centuries past worked this time? Back then, people didn’t know the full array of tricks Devils pulled in playing dead or counting on all of their body parts being corruptive. This stuff isn’t though. Not anymore.”
Gallaspie grunted. “It should all be burned anyway.”
“Agreed,” I said. “It was definitely intelligent, and I wouldn’t expect the slime to be its only trick.”
“Yes,” Bishop Derrick said, serenely walking over like she hadn’t just chokeslammed Starken’s corpse into the ground. The hells was with these seemingly old people moving better than most a third of their apparent age?
Then again, my aunt was much the same. Magic.
“If it isn’t too rude,” she continued. “The devil appeared to be talking to you. If what it said was relevant, we’d appreciate knowing.”
And with Gallaspie right behind her, a reminder of what might await me if I refused.
“It wasn’t,” I said dismissively. “Devil had some choice opinions about my parentage is all.”
“Really?” She asked with a slight frown. “Why would it have cause for that?”
Did they not know? Well, I was hardly going to let them know it, especially-
“She is the daughter of a duke of the hells,” Gallaspie said scornfully. “Related to the son who attempted to subvert this city, and his ally once upon a time.”
“Before anyone judges me for not slitting his throat on the way out,” I said mildly. “I just want to say a whole lot of people also failed at that. And continue to fail at that.”
“Bishop Derrick, Bishop Gallaspie,” Voltar said, leaning down by what was left of Starken’s corpse. “Not to interrupt your attempted grilling of one of my aides, but since we have thoroughly smote the corpse, can we attempt to get some of the rubble out of the way?”
I took the chance to fall back, leaving them to the corpse of the devil. Although the temptation to add a second corpse was growing. The imp had gone quiet after its little boast about not telling me about the other devil.
I ended up near Gregory, mostly because being near Forcreek didn’t appeal, and Tagashin was nowhere in sight. Doctor Dawes was with Voltar and the two bishops.
“I think this case ends with me and that man trying to kill each other,” I whispered, looking at Gallaspie.
“Surely you don’t mean to suggest that our fair Bishop Gallaspie, who has outright agreed with the killer’s motive, could possibly be the killer?” Gregory said lightly.
“Perhaps I’m just biased,” I muttered back. “The man is so hateable. Also, it is interesting that he thinks it impossible for anyone in the program to be murdering their fellow priests, yet also considers the mere act of using diabolism something that permanently corrupts the soul.”
Gregory nodded, a wary eye out as if Gallaspie or his lackey were lurking around the corner. “It does seem suspicious. I was told the Halspus clergy were involved entirely in a supervisory role, so none of them should have any Diabolist talents. And both of them decry the program as a barely necessary evil. But if anyone would be willing to damn their souls as they see it in return for ending this?”
“Possible,” I muttered. “We need to test that somehow.”
“Do you have a knife for it?”
I laughed drily. “No. There should be methods. Or we can just keep a watch on both of them. And even if neither one is the killer, it might be worth picking their brains for the killer’s mindset.”
“Besides, sticking him with a knife might end in you losing an arm,” Gregory noted.
I hissed between my teeth as I watched Gallaspie talk with Derrick. Not even a hint of that blazing sword under his robe.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I think that would complicate things a fair bit. Maybe not too much.”
“Really?” Gregory asked. “Plotting his murder already?”
I scowled. “Look I don’t care for you insisting-”
He held his hands up placatingly. “It’s not a condemnation Malvia. Genuine. Especially when discussing the hypothetical of him being the killer.”
I raised my eyebrow a little at that phrasing, implying even without the hypothetical of Gallaspie being the killer, discussing his death would be just fine.
“Certainly not with Diabolism,” I said. “Between the sword, the deity, and everything else he’s practically designed to be immune. Honestly? I expect that even if a blow had been landed, it wouldn’t have done much. The amount of divine power he used towards the end there? Just channeling it through his body may have disintegrated those tendrils on contact. No, I’d settle for two answers he doesn’t seem suited for.”
“And what would those be?” Gregory murmured, eyes on the lookout for any watching.
“Bullet and surprise,” I said. “He’s human. As far as we know. Humans fall remarkably quickly to either of those two.”
“Could you arrange it?”
I paused, looking in confusion at a deadly serious Gregory.
“Excuse me?” I asked. “Could you repeat that?”
“If we needed to, how quickly could you arrange it?” he repeated.
I frowned. “Why do you want a specific plan to kill him?”
“It just seems prudent is all,” Gregory replied.
Prudent? The man had been horrified by deaths he caused a month ago, had frozen up fighting Shapechangers, and now was trying to organize a hit on a Halpusian bishop like it was no big thing?
Where was my paralytic-coated knife when I needed it?
“I’d need more information,” I said. “His patterns, his routines, and more importantly who are you and what have you done with Gregory Montague?”
“Are you upset that I’m suggesting this?” He asked me quietly. “Listen, if he is the-“
“Shhh,” I said, looking at where Gallaspie and Derrick were at the far end of the church, Forcreek alongside them. “Utter lunacy. You want to talk about killing someone who we don’t even know is the killer yet? Nonsense. This conversation is over.”
Hopefully Gregory would pick up that this was a conversation for a more private location. Both about what could be done, and why he suddenly was so murder-happy.
***
By now, Voltar had given up on getting the rubble away, and he and the bishops had wandered off, leaving only Forcreek by the body, sitting next to it, eyes closed, muttering under his breath.
“Sad, isn’t it?” I remarked.
My voice startled the aide out of his vigil, and he recoiled upon realizing I was near, one hand raised as he got to his feet. He nearly tripped on his robe putting distance between us, and ended up with only an additional foot, huffing and puffing as his hand pointed towards me.
“Sorry,” I said, holding my hands up completely empty, hoping that he wasn’t fool enough to try blasting me with divine magic. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Knew the victim well?”
“What do you care?” he snapped, coughing as soon as he got those words out. “Aren’t you some kind of diabolist gang member?”
“Ex-gang member,” I said, keeping my hands up as I walked a little to the side. His arm tried to follow me, shaking as it did so. “I’d like to state that neither being a criminal or a diabolist necessarily means a deficiency in moral character.”
“All trafficking with the Hells does,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“Fair enough,” I said, shrugging slightly. “Still, doesn’t mean I can’t think something’s sad. No one deserves to die like this. Or to have their corpse used like this after death.”
He eyed me suspiciously, and I was struck by how young he was. I wasn’t that old, but he looked younger than Melissa, the battered spectacles and blonde hair framing a boyish face still losing some of that baby fat. Strange that someone so young would be a Bishop’s personal aide.
“That we can agree on,” he said somberly. “A strange opinion coming from someone in a district full of cannibals.”
Gallaspie was close. Gallaspie was close. It wasn’t worth beating some sense into this fool, who wouldn’t understand after, especially if it resulted in that sword being rammed right through my eye socket.
“You ever been hungry, Mr. Forcreek?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “Many times, and never did I choose to eat the flesh of my fellow man. Nor of any thinking being.”
“Good for you,” I said sincerely. “Try being hungry when there’s no food, not even rats because there’s not even garbage for them to live in, and when charity gets brought in, it gets seized so it can go to the actual worthy poor? Do you want to guess the symbol on the vestments of the priests who arranged that?”
I didn’t even pay attention to his reply. I needed out.
***
Outside the church now. Walston had stomped off to her picket line shortly after the devil’s death, apparently with some grievance against Voltar and the bishops. I didn’t care. It meant privacy for me here on the outside with no one around.
“You know,” Tagashin disguised as Barnes said as I suddenly became aware of leaning against the wall two feet to my right, “I thought it would be much quicker before you found yourself out here.”
I’d thought too soon. An easy mistake. I let out a slow, tired breath.
“Where were you?” I asked Tagashin quietly.
“Up top,” she replied. “The thing in there? Lesser prey than even you would be, and the two bishops would have it handled before I could say boo. Besides, revealing myself to them and giving away Voltar has a kitsune in their pocket? Much less useful than what I did instead.”
“And what would that be?” I murmured. These were thick walls of sea life and rock, but best not to take the chance of a Forcreek with his ear on the other side of it.
“Enjoying the morning breeze,” she said. “It smells so pleasant coming off the Nover, I could smell every little piece of trash and refuse that everyone dumps in it, as well as the stench of the kind of river-dweller that eats on that garbage.”
I rolled my eyes. “Seriously.”
“Oh, no fun,” she teased. “Fine. Keeping an eye on who would show up. Just in case your rather murderous twin decided to show up.”
I frowned. We weren’t literal twins, but Versalicci would fit the bill, but even with his rather cavalier appearances above-ground he’d never come this far afield. And definitely not near the watch. And how could Tagashin know about Melissa?
“You mean the killer,” I said, cursing my mind for having taken that tangent.
“Of course, I meant the killer,” she said, curiosity blooming on her face. “Who did you think I meant?”
I tried to think of a way out, then realized that throwing the kitsune something would be better than having her take an interest in ferreting out.
“When you’re talking to someone like me, discussing an evil twin is not so distant a possibility,” I admitted.
Her eyes practically sparkled at that thought. “Oh, an evil twin? What, would they be wearing an eyepatch.”
“We are not having this discussion,” I said.
“Ooh, she’d be in a black fancy dress, and she’d need an even more evil name somehow. Tyrannia Barrow?”
“Could you please stop talking nonsense?” I snapped, tempted to go have Voltar repeat whatever trick had sent her hurtling through a train when she tried running away last time.
“Oh, you’re just upset because you want to be the one in a fancy black dress,” Tagashin teased.
Damnable Kitsune, could she not be accurate?
“I am not dignifying that with a response,” I said as calmly as I could. A tirade about the budget limitations of shady Infernal alchemists was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. “Did you spot anything of actual interest?”
“A few things,” she admitted. “Not our killer I think. The people attracted seemed more worried than interested. And none of them seemed the diabolist. More like people wondering why a devil was suddenly in the city.”
“Still worth noting,” I said.
“Of course, which is why I’ve got a way to keep track of them. For later. But going off chasing one of them might missing a later one. Speaking of, your special guest is still in our carriage.”
Melissa. I raised an eyebrow. “She hasn’t made a run for it yet.”
“Nope. And I haven’t been peaking, so if you wanna find out why, that’s on you.”
I considered it, then nodded. It seemed as good as anything else I could do for right now.
***
Melissa lay on her back in the carriage, reading a book. I frowned as I read the title. The Case of the Man-eating House.
“I don’t want to guess which of them keeps fictional retellings of their own cases in here,” I said as I sat across from her. “Interesting read?”
“Yeah,” she said, thumbing to the next page, not even glancing my way. “Fictitious?”
“Exaggerated or changed for the parts that can’t be made public,” I said. “Skeleton’s probably real, some of the fat’s been trimmed to keep it actually publishable without the government coming down on them like a ton of bricks.”
“And these are the people you work for now?” She said, looking up with a coy little grin.
“They’re the people I’m stuck working with because Golvar decided to drag me into a mess that outed me to everyone,” I growled angrily. “I don’t know what pisses me off more, that I got dragged into a swirling typhoon of chaos by him or that he didn’t live to experience it himself.”
The little bit of amusement left her face, replaced by fury.
“Do not talk about him like that,” she hissed. “He deserved more than death with only a traitor to witness it!”
I eyed her warily, then slowly nodded. “Speaking out of line. I should have held my tongue.”
Her eyes were on the verge of tears as she managed to get out a simple “Do.”
I sighed. Not going as planned. “Book any good?”
She eagerly went for a chance to discuss anything but Golvar. “It’s alright. A good way to waste time for now.”
“You seem pretty eager to stay inside,” I said. “Thought you would have made a run for it by now.”
She scoffed. “Yes, make a run for it. In front of two bishops, who knows how many Watch, and all of you, into a district reeling from a beloved figure of the community who was killed with Diabolism. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t do that.”
“You had your shot,” I said. “When we were all in the temple. Just a line of watch, citizens behind. Easy to make a run for it.”
“You were right,” she snapped. “Was that so hard to hear? Hells below, the entire pantheon of those gutless hypocrites utilizing Diabolism. And they preach about the evils of doing so?”
“Think that’s mostly the Halspusians,” I said. “The rest of that anti-diabolist sentiment is more secular than the other religions chipping in. Remember who is the crown’s patron deity?”
“Says the person working with a bishop of theirs,” Melissa said drily.
“Like I have more of a choice in that than I do with Voltar?” I asked. “Besides, defying that one….deadly man.”
I had actually looked outside, to where Voltar and Gallaspie had finally exited the temple, when someone else caught my eye. Someone else I knew, and who was making a belline for the carriage. Dressed as any other vagrant, he wasn’t drawing any attention as he neared.
“Get out, now. Unless you wanna be chained alongside me,” I snapped, and eyes widening, Melissa opened the other side of the carriage and scampered out.
I recomposed myself. Okay, this was arguably inevitable, although why approaching me and why now was a bit of a puzzle. They should have been involved from the start.
Samuel Voltar entered the carriage, looking at the door I’d shut after Melissa had left through it.
“Disagreement of some kind?” He asked innocently.
I couldn’t hide Melissa being a diabolist, not with Gregory knowing as well. I’d downplayed it as much as I could with Voltar, and could only hope he didn’t inform Intelligence. He didn’t seem particularly enamored with them. But there was no pretending someone hadn’t been in the couch or who they were.
“A discussion of bishops,” I said. “A disagreement over them. Versalicci making his opinions know. On the topic of siblings, your brother isn’t in here.”
“I know,” he said as he settled in the seat across from me. “You’ll have to go fetch him.”
I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue such a mundane and minor point. “He’s in discussion with the bishops at the moment, do you want me to fetch them as well?”
“The bishops and their attendants will have to wait,” Samuel Voltar noted drily. “A third cleric is dead at the hands of diabolists.”
Author's Note: I'm doing full-time work again, so chapter lengths might shrink a little closer to 2k in the future once again. Or more likely I start splitting chapters like this in half. Sorr
Comments
Frog
actually hella looking forward to malvia moments with the two bishops. It’s interesting
Neil Stevens
The plan is to keep chapters at this length if it's sustainable for me. I'd regret having to split chapters up but I'd regret not being able to keep consistent updates going even more.
Colin Love
Damn I love the current writing format few cliffhangers, well balanced chapters that have an introduction a purpose moving the plot forward & are wrapped up on at a natural transition. Some authors who write in shorter format drop a hook chapter then a transition to the main event which often ends up filler slice of life. Then of course. The main plot point is revealed yet can be left hanging for a clearing up chapter. Good writing is good writing mitigating a decline in quality but the Patreon model can reward more less substantive chapters. I suppose as long a the their just shorter and it bugs me I can wait and read a few a time.
UnderwhelmingBird
Aww she's still a bit of a softie at heart, looking out for Melissa. Also RIP the third nerd
