Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 24 - The Poor Rats
🕑 Added 2024-06-24 16:00:11 +0000 UTC“No,” I whispered, turning away from the sight. My tongue slipped out unconsciously, licking some of the arterial spray off of my face. I bit down into it, holding it in place before it could slip inside. I winced, tasting copper as my teeth sank in to hold the possessed appendage in place.
How much do you insist on mutilating yourself to avoid every bit of temptation, girl? You’ve become even more boring since putting me to sleep.
I couldn’t respond, tongue flailing as I held it in place with my teeth. The Imp eventually let go, and I got as much blood off as I could before letting my tongue back inside. My blood and the pain would feed the possessing demon, but not as much as taking in the blood of another.
Curse you, Versalicci, for sticking me with this damned thing.
When my talent for Diabolism had first emerged, there were no teachers of it. At least, that was the excuse Versalicci had given me. I’d forgotten the one he’d made when Daver had shown up and done what Versalicci suggested as an alternative. A shortcut to be taken so I could do as he asked.
Arranging my possession by the imp.
“I’m not eating human corpses for you,” I said, keeping a wary eye for any witnesses while I cleaned my saber.
I’d found out early in my possession that while the Imp could intrude on my thoughts easily enough, I could only communicate by speaking out loud. My research into Diabolism since leaving had not turned up much, but I’d learned enough to know that it was not normal for possession.
Versalicci had done it on purpose. Another way to keep me deeper in his thrall.
I walked away from the two corpses. I should have kept one alive for questioning, but waking the imp next to a struggling human it could try to force me to gnaw on?
I wasn’t becoming a cannibal of the living or the dead.
My stomach wrenched, and my guts felt like they were being twisted. I collapsed, trying to wretch something out of an empty stomach.
“Try to do that again, and the next thing down my throat will be holy water, imp. You want to risk that?” I gasped out as I got back to my feet.
The imp actually took its time to respond to that. You wouldn’t dare. I know you, Malvia Harrow and you’re hardly one to take your own life.
“I wouldn’t need to,” I said. “There was an account of experiments done a century back on diluting holy water and measuring its effectiveness that I’ve read. There’s a precise amount of dilution that would result in my survival, but you getting a lethal dose. It seems for once being only half a devil has come in handy for me.”
A bluff. The amount of holy water mixed with regular water to kill the imp would do permanent damage to my brain, body, and soul. The study had concluded that there was no ‘safe’ amount of holy water a Tiefling could imbibe, with even trace amounts leading to issues down the line. It had only taken a few thousand test subjects.
Memories of those results made my stomach revolt again. Dry language could only do so much to disguise the nature of those experiments.
No one else had ventured into the alley yet. Whatever these two had done to ensure an empty audience, it had done its trick. Unfortunately, it left me with a corpse to dispose of. There were other forms of magic that could have rotted off the Pure-bloods arm. I was certain that is not where the Watch’s mind would go seeing someone’s arm turned to black mush and bone. Rot still tainted the edges, but that was more in line with some alchemical solutions or spells.
It would have to do. I hardly had the time to chop the arm off.
I took one of the Pure Blood’s coats, then gathered up as much of the rotted gunk as I could. Setting this on fire wouldn’t work and would probably spread the taint of it for miles on the back of the wind. Instead, I’d dump it in another alley.
I poked a few more holes in each of them, aided by their own weapons, which I also pocketed. Those would get dumped in the river if I could make the journey, in the underground if I could not. Blood still flowed, not as much as if they were alive, but enough to give the illusion of wounds from a fight.
The imp’s silence faded by the time I left the alley two minutes later.
Bah, leaving without taking a bite. How are you going to fuel yourself, little devil? You’ve already done such harm to your body, blinding yourself and cutting yourself off from your magic so. Perhaps I should try to fix it.
I briefly stilled but dismissed the thought of the Imp trying to change me.
“I’ll feed you some lamb when we reach a safe place to spend the night,” I said into the open air.
Lamb? Bah! Barely anything in that. Get me some juicy human, raw and dripping with blood.
“You’re not making it sound very appetizing,” I commented, walking back to my original course. Sadly, that was probably the easiest conversation I had with a demon. From what I’d been told at the contract signing, this imp was a favorite for learning Diabolists, meaning that it was an excellent conversationalist among mortals compared to some of its kin.
Mind you, I was pretty sure half of what had been told to me by Versalicci had been nothing but lies.
Best to make myself scarce. It would be impossible for anyone not have heard those screams, and with people spooked from the events of today, their natural antipathy towards the watch might be wearing thin.
For once luck shined on me and the patrol of Watchmen heading to the alley thought nothing of me quietly walking down the street. I’d put the Pure-blood’s bloodied coat in my bag of belongings, and now would not be drinking from that teapot without an extremely thorough wash, but no one stopped.
How many years have you kept me asleep? The Imp asked in my mind. Has Versalicci taken over the city?
“No, quite the opposite. He’s lower than when he made a contract with you and me.”
The Imp cackled inside my head.
“You know, for some reason, I thought that would actually upset you. Hell being defied and all that.”
Oh, that part is perhaps a little annoying, but never underestimate the Devils. But it’s his arrogance that I laugh at, the boy thinking his schemes could come to success.
“I don’t know what’s funnier, the fact you call Versalicci ‘the Boy’ or that you just said that about a plan from his father.”
Clearly, the fault lies in the boy’s execution. The Duke’s plan was undoubtedly perfect and only foiled by his progeny’s failures.
“Kiss-ass,” I muttered.
That was a little too close to another Infernal, who gave me an offended look before increasing her pace, leaving me far behind. Well, if she thought the shoe fit her, who was I to argue?
Still, I kept my mouth sealed even as the Imp laid out all the reasons inside my head how its deference to a Duke of hell differed from mocking the Duke’s son.
I’d put this thing to sleep after months of preparation, only for it all to be undone in one moment of weakness. A moment of weakness that had probably saved me from…something, and I shivered remembering how Pure-blood had put his hand on me. But now the damned thing was woken up, and I doubted trickery would work a second time to get it back asleep.
Banishing the creature was out of the question. Ignoring the fact that most forms of banishment would kill me just because of my infernal blood, my soul was bound to the Hells. When my mortal form perished, I’d be heading down there, and banishments didn’t really distinguish between the possessor’s soul and the possessed.
And to add to my complaints, what have you been doing with this strange bio-magic? It practically permeates your body, rotting. You haven’t been feeding it, have you? I could delay its decay, you know. It’s all magic in the end, and I am co-inhabiting your body with it. Or perhaps hasten its end.
I shuddered. I could do without the reminders about how deeply the creature was nestled inside me. Or what it could do if it ever found a way to wriggle out of the original summoning contract.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I muttered. We were back on the streets, and while talking to yourself would not draw much attention, my changing back would be violent enough to get everyone on this street to pay attention by the end of it.
The imp didn’t reply, and I immediately started looking for an exit off of the streets.
I found another alleyway, which was partially occupied, but the three others using it huddled around the far end of the alley. Sniffing around, this end clued me into why. Someone had been smoking Hopleaf recently. With all the Watch around, no one would want the scent of that drug on their clothes.
Somewhat protected from the eyes and ears of bystanders, I could raise my voice just a little.
“You cannot affect the magic, Imp. You are bound by your very existence to not cause me direct harm, and your suggestions tread close to that line.”
I can’t directly choose to harm you permanently, but changing how a natural process would occur? Perhaps as a lesson in how making half-decisions is never the right choice?
Something twisted in one of my legs. I bit my tongue to keep a yelp of pain inside as something unfurled in there, pushing against the skin.
Damnations. My cheapness was going to be the death of me. I could not have the disguise fall apart now, not till I found my tools.
“Imp,” I forced out even as my leg cracked, the joint popping and sending daggers of pain up my leg. “Stop, and I’ll pay in the things you love best, pain and souls.”
Pass, the Imp said in my head, cackling as my hoof slid across the ground a half-inch. Fresh keratin came forth, grinding against the stone. My bones burned, tears welling up in my eyes. You’re already in pain. Pain that you need to learn from. And you’ll only eat animals. I want a sentient soul. Devoured with the flesh.
“There’s more pain. If this is delayed. Not allowed to unfold naturally.” I got out. “And I’ll do a dozen rats.”
I couldn’t feel much of the demon’s emotions, but it would ponder on the offer. Had to ponder on that. Its nature was gluttony, and it was starving for years.
Hrrm. Twenty-five rats. Uncooked. Living.
My reply got interrupted as my veins traced lines of fire across my leg, trying to enlarge against flesh that wasn’t moving fast enough.
“Deal,” I managed, and the pain faded. Slowly, my leg changed back, flesh pushing back in and shrinking into a more dense form, keratin forcing its way back into my leg. “I’ll get on it tomorrow morning.”
We didn’t agree on any time. I insist on now. There are eight in that heap of trash alone.
***
By the time I stumbled into Hell’s Own, everything ached, I looked quite the mess, and I had half a dozen new scars cutting through my lips thanks to the efforts of several rats not to become food.
At least the blood was gone. The Imp at least knew the benefits of keeping something of a low profile. Not enough to remove the scars so it could feast on the pain. The fur stuck between my teeth it left there because it was an ass.
The same went for insisting I was the one channeling the Diabolism so it could close up my wounds. It hurt me to use Diabolism in this body. I’d designed it that way, trying to smother my affinity with the magic, and it would remain that way till the Sculpts reverted.
My entrance drew attention, but not much. There were only a dozen patrons at the bar and no one at all sitting at the Black Flame’s table. A little luck for me.
I walked over to the bar with as much grace and dignity as I could muster with the amount of cuts on my face.
“Tea,” I croaked out. The inside of my mouth burned. The rats hadn’t gone down without a fight, and they’d cut the inside of my mouth till I lost count of how many claws and teeth had torn into me.
“You have fur and blood in between your teeth,” Edwards said. “Are you alright?”
“Not really,” I said. “Please, some tea. I’ll pay double rate for a good cup of it. Actually, the entire pot, if you could spare it.”
Edwards eyed me more than a little suspiciously. I could hardly blame him, but I knew for a fact people had come in here under stranger circumstances. His curiosity shouldn’t overwhelm a professional sense of privacy.
If it didn’t, I was hardly going to tell him I was a possessed Diabolist.
“A pot full of tea,” he called back into the kitchen. “And a bottle of mead, as well.”
“No, just tea, please,” I insisted.
“You’re bleeding on the inside of your mouth,” He stated. “You don’t need me to tell you the importance of sterilizing that.”
“Mr. Edwards, I have my own methods of that. Now, could you please just get me some tea!”
All the bar was staring at me now, risen up and practically yelling into the bartender’s face. My face flushed. I’d fully lost my grip on the mask, but I did my best to reassemble it.
Assertive, The Imp hissed in my head. Of course, the wrong place. Maybe practice on someone you can actually beat up. Unless you wish to use me to guide your talents again?
“Apologies, Mr. Edwards,” I said. “I’d say it’s been a bad day, but that would just be an excuse. I can leave if I’m making a scene, and my apologies for that as well.”
His eyes studied my face. I wasn’t even bothering with the Sculpts; I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to fake tiredness, regret, or shame.
“It’s hardly the worst a customer has yelled at me,” he said with forced lightness. “Still, I’d ask you don’t do it again. Just tea, then?”
“Tea and perhaps bring the bottle. I’ll pay extra for that as well. And a meal as well, if it’s not too much to ask?”
“The oven’s still burning. Take your pick. As long as you’re paying extra.”
I could hardly say no to that as I turned to look over the menu. The smell alone of cooking meat in the back was already making me salivate, which helped a bit with the pain.
My stomach ached, mostly from emptiness. The Imp had consumed all the rats, diabolism tearing them apart before they ever reached my stomach. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d even had a bite of something.
I looked at the menu. It mostly consisted of fish, the cheapest of the meats. Pork shin and cheek were just behind it, mixed in a stew. That beat out the next likely contender, a watercress sandwich. But even thinking of any meat sent my stomach into conniptions almost as bad as the Imp would inflict.
It wasn’t fair that it could both force me to consume rats and make my stomach empty, and also that my stomach would revolt at the thought of eating more. I could still taste them, the fur, the blood, the raw flesh. The desperate crawling even as teeth bit down into them.
Edward shook me out of my thoughts, setting a bottle, a teapot, and a pair of cups down in front of me.
“Any food?”
“Uh…” my stomach had not settled at all, nor had the temptation of cooked meat and other foods stopped calling like a siren. “Pork stew, please. Double price?”
“It would be appreciated.”
I counted out the coins, both for that and the drink. There were two others at the bar, keeping their distance after my brief outburst, but not enough that they wouldn’t notice the type of coins I was putting down. It couldn’t be avoided now, partially thanks to my idiocy.
Never yell at the staff. Edwards was being extremely tolerant of that brief outburst I’d just had. The Hells was I thinking, that wasn’t just the mask crumbling, Malvia and Katheryn both knew better than that!
As Edwards turned around to get the soup, I grabbed the teapot. It wasn’t too warm as I poured the tea into the cup. I didn’t trust myself to try holding the cup with my hands. Wise, as I lifted it to my lips with trembling fingers.
Small sips, letting the soothing nature of the drink slowly come over me. The gluttonous imp at least did me the favor of not drinking it in my place. I did my best to ignore the bottle that had been set aside, focusing on the cup and pot.
I couldn’t risk mead. Not with the Imp awake. The fewer levers related to gluttony I could give it to leverage, the better. If I gave it an inch, I’d end up with five addictions and a learned taste for things I’d deliberately forced out of me.
I would not be repeating that again. Ever.
Edwards returned with a bowl of still-steaming soup, potatoes, watercress, onions, and carrots mixed with the pork.
Draining the cup, I set it down and put another batch of coins on the table.
“I need a place to stay overnight. Is there a room free?”
“A few,” Edwards replied. “In a spot of trouble?”
I nodded, putting another few coins down. After a second, I put down a handful more and gave Edwards a pointed stare. Yes, I’d caused offense, but not enough to extort me.
“I’ll have someone show you to it soon. How much trouble should I expect to follow you?”
How long till I ruined my standing here like everywhere else? Not long. No use hiding that.
“Any you can imagine, it will come.”
Comments
gostsamo
> It would be impossible for anyone not have heard those screams, missing "to" somewhere there, I think. PS: She needs a shovel, 'cause digging the bottom with bare hands is not a good idea.
