The massive devil’s wings thunder through the sulfurous air as Belial banks sharply, his ancient face contorting with rage. Below, crimson tears streak down Fierna’s cheeks as she cradles Reteterrex’s lifeless form, the salamander’s scales already dulling to ash-gray. The acrid smell of brimstone mingles with the metallic tang of spilled blood.
Inside the armored vehicle, chaos erupts. Chamo’s blade drips with Reklaw’s blood as the assassin presses deeper into the cabin, his footsteps echoing against the metal hull. Kiki spins in the pilot’s seat, her knuckles white as she launches herself at the intruder. Her shoulder connects with Chamo’s chest in a bone-jarring impact, but the devil barely staggers, muscles like iron beneath his scaled hide.
“Get back!” she snarls, arcane words spilling from her lips as she weaves the Levitate spell. The air shimmers with magical energy, but Chamo’s feet remain planted, his laugh a low rumble of contempt.
From across the cabin, Mr. C’s fingers dance through the air, tracing blazing sigils that hang like fire in the darkness. The Vortex Warp spell crackles to life with a sound like tearing silk.
Chamo’s triumphant expression melts into shock as reality bends around him. One moment he stands victorious in the cabin—the next, he plunges into the lake of molten fire beyond the vehicle’s walls. Lava hisses and bubbles around his form, steam rising in great gouts, but the devil emerges unharmed, his skin gleaming like polished obsidian.
With powerful strokes, he swims back to shore, lava cascading from his frame. Once within range, his voice booms across the battlefield as he weaves his own dark magic. “Let madness take you!”
The Confusion spell strikes like a thunderbolt. Inside the cabin, sanity fractures. Kiki’s eyes blaze with sudden, inexplicable fury as she turns on Reklaw. “Traitor!” she screams, abandoning the controls to claw at him. Reklaw roars back, his wounds forgotten as primal rage consumes him. They crash together in a tangle of limbs, the vehicle lurching wildly.
Chamo’s laughter echoes off the hellish landscape—until it dies in his throat.
Fierna descends from the scarlet sky, Reteterrex’s still form cradled in her arms. Her voice splits the air with the force of a funeral bell: “I will have vengeance!” The words seem to shake the very foundations of the Nine Hells.
With infinite tenderness, she lays down her fallen champion, then extends one trembling finger toward Chamo. Crimson light erupts around the devil, outlining him in ribbons of hellfire. His eyes widen in terror as the light intensifies, and then—silence. Where Chamo stood, only empty air remains, shimmering with residual heat.
The spell’s breaking snaps through the cabin like a released bowstring. Kiki and Reklaw blink as reality reasserts itself, their manufactured rage evaporating. With apologies, they resume their positions—Kiki at the wheel, Reklaw manning the pedals. The vehicle lurches forward, spitting gouts of flame and molten rock as they flee the scene at breakneck speed.
The landscape blurs past—rivers of lava, forests of iron trees, mountains that breathe smoke. They thunder eastward toward the Isle of Sin, where the prison of Phlegethos squats. At the edge of the Searing Fields, where bog fires dance through the fiery earth, a figure steps into their path.
The kordichai devil plants his trident in the smoldering earth, its three prongs gleaming with malevolent purpose. His voice cracks like a whip through the fetid air: “State your business!”
Kiki, forcing herself to appear bored, snarls at the devil, “Prison transport.” She gestures at the quietly moaning Lula, who genuinely looks wretched from their time in Phlegethos.
The devil sneers and digs his trident into Lula, who cries out piteously.
Reklaw, alarmed, comes up with a ready lie: “We must keep the prisoner fresh for the Master!”
The kordichai ceases torturing Lula, and snarls, “Papers!”
“I have them here,” Reklaw mutters, his hands moving with deceptive casualness through his gear. The devil approaches, curiosity overcoming caution, close enough that Reklaw can smell the brimstone on his breath.
The stunning strike comes without warning—a blur of motion that sends the kordichai crashing to the burning ground. Before the creature can recover, Kiki guns the engine. The massive wheels crush down with a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. The devil writhes beneath them, claws scrabbling against metal, until finally—mercifully—the struggling stops.
Steam rises from the corpse as they roll forward, leaving flattened remains in their wake. But as they approach the prison walls, reality sets in. The fortress looms before them like a mountain of black stone, its walls thick enough to withstand the siege engines of angels. Their vehicle, formidable as it seemed moments ago, appears suddenly frail and inadequate.
“We need a new plan,” Kiki mutters, turning the wheel. The vehicle’s nose swings around, pointing toward new horizons. “Stygia calls.”
The engine roars to life once more as they begin their journey to the frozen hell that awaits, leaving behind the fires and fury of Phlegethos for whatever fresh torments lie ahead.
