The grinder lurches forward across the notorious Road of Bones, its massive wheels pulverizing the calcified remains that form the hellish thoroughfare. Each revolution brings the snapping and crunching as ancient femurs and ribcages splintering beneath its vast weight. The sound echoes across the barren canyonland, as Reklaw grips the steering mechanism with white knuckles.
The acrid air shimmers with pale green heat waves rising from the bone-dust kicked up by their passage. Rusty winds carry the metallic tang of distant forges and the ever-present scent of brimstone that permeates this circle of Hell.
Their progress halts abruptly when a figure emerges from behind a towering cairn of skulls. A dwarf miner, matted with dirt and pickaxe slung across his shoulder, approaches with purposeful strides. His knuckles rap sharply against Kiki's window, the sound cutting through the grinder's mechanical rumbling.
Kiki cranks down the window, squinting against the hellish glare. "What do you want?" she demands, her artificer's mind already analyzing the figure before her. Something feels wrong—the proportions are subtly off, the movements too fluid for a creature of stone and earth, such as a dwarf.
Her suspicions comes in a blaze of realization as her gaze falls upon the miner's hands. The palms face outward where they should face in, the thumbs positioned on the wrong sides entirely. Not a devil, but something far more cunning. A rakshasa.
"Drive," Reklaw mutters, but before the grinder can lurch into motion, the creature, dropping the dwarf form, springs with supernatural grace onto the vehicle's roof. Its claws find purchase in the metal plating as it begins a rhythmic tapping—a deliberate code that resonates through the cabin.
Mr. C's head tilts, his infernal heritage allowing him to catch fragments of the communication. Vali's scholarly mind works alongside his, parsing the cryptic rhythm. Between them, they manage to decode every third syllable that filters through the grinder's hull: "Slow... further... road... fallen angel... devils."
The companions exchange glances heavy with uncertainty. Trust comes at a premium in Hell, but information might prove more valuable than suspicion.
Reklaw eases off the accelerator, and the creature above shifts its weight. The crude miner's disguise has melted away, replaced by an elegantly dressed rakshasa. The being now stands beside their vehicle on two legs, its tigerlike features noble despite the reversed hands that mark its true nature. Rich silks flutter in the hellish breeze, and jeweled rings catch the crimson light filtering through the perpetual dusk.
"I am Kemil the Bane," the creature announces with courtly precision. "I propose a simple transaction—three soul coins for passage into the City of Dis. I find myself in...a philosophical disagreement with Lord Dispater regarding the distribution of iron from his forges."
The rakshasa's lips curve in what might be a smile. "My lord freely shares our bounty with Avernus for their endless war against the Abyss. I believe such generosity to be... misguided."
As the companions debate in hushed tones, Kemil addresses concerns they voice only in their thoughts, his telepathic intrusion subtle but unmistakable. The realization that their minds lie open to him settles over them like a cold shroud, but necessity breeds strange alliances in Hell.
They invite Kemil aboard, and the grinder resumes its bone-crushing journey toward the iron towers of the City of Dis. The landscape grows more desolate with each mile, towering spires of fused bone creating natural archways that frame the distant city's glow.
The encounter comes without warning. Two bone devils march in perfect formation, their skeletal frames draped in the crimson tabards of Dispater's authority. Between them stumbles a figure that stops the companions' hearts—Lula, the celestial they once knew, now fallen and broken.
Whip-marks score his once-radiant skin in angry welts. Heavy manacles bind his ankles and waist, their chains clanking with each labored step. His eyes, once bright with divine light, now peer from darkened sockets set in a face pale as parchment. The sight of their former ally in such degradation sends a chill through the grinder's cabin that has nothing to do with Hell's unnatural cold.
"I cannot help you. I must remain neutral in any conflict," Kemil states quietly, his elegant voice carrying an undertone of regret.
The lead bone devil approaches with military precision, its knuckles rapping against Kiki's window with bureaucratic authority. She drops the barrier once more, her patience wearing thin.
"I seize this vehicle in the name of his Lordship Dispater for the transport of this dangerous criminal," the devil declares, its voice hollow as wind through empty crypts. "Your property may be retrieved from his Lordship's property master upon payment of appropriate fees and presentation of proper documentation."
Kiki's response comes not in words but in the sharp crack of her crossbow. The bolt catches the bone devil center mass, sending it staggering backward with bone fragments scattered like dice across the Road of Bones.
Battle erupts with hellish fury. The bone devils' hellhound companions unleash gouts of flame that wash over the grinder's hull, turning the metal cabin into a furnace. One devil strikes with surgical precision, its claws finding the mechanism that controls the front wheel. Gears screech and lock, leaving Reklaw cursing as he fights unresponsive controls.
In the chaos, Vali's voice rises in arcane incantation. The Enlarge spell takes hold with devastating effect, expanding the grinder until its oversized frame rolls over one of the bone devils and both of the hellhounds. The now-enormous tank explodes over bone devil, pulverizing it into a mist of bone powder. The hellhounds suffer similar but more gory fates. They disappear into smaller bursts of fur and gore.
Panicked, the surviving bone devil spreads leathery wings and takes flight, its form dwindling against Dis's crimson skyline as it flees to report the encounter to its masters. the friends fire, but none is lucky enough to knock it out of the pea green sky.
As the echoes of battle fade and fine, white dust settles upon the Road of Bones, the companions survey their victory. Lula is helped into the tank, but remains, still chained. They rest, the artificers working on both repairs and improvements to the grinder.
Ahead of them the iron towers of Dis gleam with promises of both salvation and damnation. Their souls await reclamation somewhere within that infernal depths, but now they travel with knowledge that their presence is no longer secret to the powers that rule this circle of Hell. And they have far to go.
