Chapter 77: A Hole in the Heart

Chapter 77: A Hole in the Heart

“Would you be interested in trying? Fighting a much more powerful being than yourself? There are few opportunities to train against such an opponent in any degree of safety. But we could summon a level four demon for you to test yourself against.” Merkovah offered. “I would be able to restrain and banish them if necessary.”

Truth thought about it for a moment. That... was an awesome offer, actually. It would be smart to understand what higher-level combat was like.

“Yes, thank you, Teacher, that would be wonderful.” He smiled.

Merkovah looked over at the cousins. “Use this curse tablet for the summoning. There is a particular demon I want and a particular way I want him to appear.”

The beardy exorcist dug into his bag, searching for a moment to find the hand-sized lead sheet. With alarming casualness, he tossed it towards Etenesh, who snagged it with equally casual ease. She gave the tablet a quick skim. Her face went through a few changes as she did. Disbelief transformed into outrage, confusion, and finally, snickers of malicious satisfaction after she had doubled back a few times.

“Did this demon do something to offend you, Teacher?” She asked.

“Other than the fact of its existence? No. Its nature is more than enough reason.”

The operation this time was apparently much more complex. Jember used a slim wand to trace a complex web of energy, tying it to the formation in the floor. Etenesh used a silver blade to carve jagged runes into the air as he worked. The symbols seemed to burn with an alien light, something too pure and inhuman for this brief and filthy mud-ball world.

The working suddenly snapped together. The golden lines formed a spiked wreath in the air as the terrible runes wreathed the curse tablet. The formation on the floor flashed steely gray, then transformed into basalt-black. The hard black spread through the test chamber, climbing up the walls and the roof. The black shaded into lead gray.

The space within the golden wreath didn’t tear but rotted away. Within its confines, the world necrotizing and decayed, bursting pustules of reality spilling foul-smelling pus into the chamber. Through the winding wound, Truth could see a swirling madness.

Every flicker of light or color seemed to carry a meaning of specific pain. The green of watching maggots feast and breed in your weeping wounds was a subtly different shade than the green of losing your wife to cancer. A different shade than watching your child crawl, sickly, never to be healthy, paralyzed by a disease that could have been prevented or cured with just a little money. More money than you could raise.

Each part of this madness place was an inescapable regret. Was a lingering, ongoing pain. It was horror. It was despair. It was Hell or a small corner of it.

The lead curse tablet melted and reformed into a barbed hook. Swiftly and silently, it dipped into Hell and hooked a glob of that mad-sorrow-stuff, dragging it through the portal. The shock white light runes branded it, bound it into a recognizable form.

Three meters tall, roughly shaped like a man with the sickle blades of a mantis where their arms should be and no head on his shoulders. A bloody tear opened across its gut, showing a mouth with rows of circular teeth. It looked like it was trying to speak but was bound to silence. Its whole body was eloquent in its stead. Frustration, outrage, malice.

“It has a name, but you don’t need to know it. All you need to know is that in many places, it is simply called “Child Eater.” Many demons like it, of course, but this one enjoys leaving little bits of the children for the parents to find, along with messages promising the child is still alive. If only the parents kill, rape, or defile, another, the child will be returned. A lie, of course.”

Merkovah’s voice was filled with a tired loathing.

“Often, the specified victim must be another child. It’s almost impossible to permanently kill, but by summoning it through this ritual and killing it repeatedly, it grows weaker and less able to come to this world. More likely to fall victim to the predation of Hell.” Merkovah looked over at Truth. “Hero or not, killing it is a job that must be done. Its physique is quite powerful, though its magic is limited to about Level Four. With demons, it’s not exact.” He turned to look at Truth.

“Go.”

Truth rushed in, sword tip aimed at the beast’s wishbone. A barbed scythe whipped at him, almost faster than he could see. He brought the blade up to parry. The weight of the blow almost knocked him off his feet, sliding him backward across the gray floor.

The demon didn’t let the moment pass. It charged in, infernal script branding itself on its skin. Truth called for blessed fire, white-hot in a film coating the blade. He met the charge with a thrust. The angelic blade skipped off the chitin armor of the scythe arms. The infernal words glowed where the blade passed.

“If you think about it, demons are concentrated blobs of energy that steal from the material universe to give that energy solid form. The curse tablet is something I made especially for that demon. It crushes and refines the physical form without letting the demon escape back to Hell, letting me siphon off a great deal of its energy. Weakening it, for a time.” Merkovah’s voice was steady.

“One day, I hope to use it as a basis to kill grand demons permanently. In theory, if I weaken it enough, the Sword of Moshe should be able to kill it.”

“One day.” Truth agreed.

“Amen.” The cousins agreed too.

Etenesh looked down at Truth. “You need new clothes.”

“I do.” He agreed.

“Jember, do you know where they have good clothes in town?” She asked.

“Good? No. Cheap? Yes.” Jember grinned, then offered Truth his hand. “Come on, let’s get you looking sharp. Maybe get you a haircut too.”

Truth took his hand and stood. His hair was quite long. At least, quite long for him. He always used to wear it short. He rubbed his chin. A bit long to still qualify as stubble. Hmm. Was stubble good? Stubble was good. Maybe he could have someone just trim and shape it?

“Sounds like a great plan.”

“Come see me after lunch for your Incisive tutorial. And Mr. Wells?” Merkovah smiled slightly. “You can keep the sword with you. An acid bolter is a bandit’s weapon. Angelic blades are carried by those of both courage and quality.”

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Jember led him off campus to a little shop. Clothes were piled in, well, piles. Tidy stacks were shoved next to tidy stacks until every flat surface was covered a meter deep in fabric. Then more were hung from the walls, jutting out horizontally and shrinking the volume of the room dramatically.

“Here, let’s see what we can get for you. Sir! Sir! My friend here needs new clothes. Something sharp.” He grinned at Truth. “Although I think most things will look good on him.”

Truth grinned and shrugged awkwardly as a shopkeeper swarmed out from the piles. A fellow member of the white hat brotherhood. Truth let himself be shown a blizzard of things. He snagged a snug Robin’s Egg Blue shirt. (“Ah, a bit out of fashion, but it suits you, Sir!”) The trouser situation was both more urgent and more mysterious.

“What’s a good choice for trousers?” Truth asked.

“Trousers are unchanging and eternal. Avoid “fun” patterns,” Was the advice of the shopkeep. Jember recommended a form-fitting pair.

“You have the legs for it. And the ass.” Truth flushed. Jember’s grin was mischievous. “Show it off. Flaunt it! Besides, the sword jutting forward will definitely inspire thoughts in others.”

Truth furiously tried to deny it, tripping over his tongue, trying to get the words out in the right order.

“The look on your face! Come on, it’s not like this is the first time you caught a man’s eye.” Jember grinned and eyed Truth like a particularly tasty flan.

The shopkeeper butted in. “Young man, that is most inappropriate! Trying to lead a Desrin off his Muq like that! Shame on you!” He turned towards Truth. “Brother, you have no need of bad friends. If the flies trouble you, just flick them away!”