Mark of the Fool
Chapter 538: Aggressive Recruitment

A broad grin—revealing row upon row of demonic fangs—spread across Kaz-Mowang’s face, malice gleamed in his eyes like a cruel child who'd just received a new toy to break.

But beneath that smile? An incalculable ageless rage simmered.

“Well, well, what treachery is this?” he snarled.

Alex’s eyes were fixed on the portal, measuring distance, tuning out Kaz-Mowang’s arrogant voice.

“Tell me, is Hannar-Cim with you now? Or is she hiding elsewhere?” The bull-headed demon glanced around. “Or maybe—”

“Everyone grab on!” Alex shouted.

His companions reached for him.

Kaz-Mowang’s expression dropped.

And his trident’s tines flared with golden lightning. Bolts of power danced between the prongs.

Before Alex could utter the second syllable of his incantation, lightning tore toward them with a hungry crackle, raising the hairs on their bodies.

Claygon moved, jumping between them and the bolt.

Iron still covered him.

“No! Claygon! Get—”

The lightning bolt struck, arcing through his iron coating, current arcing through Claygon’s stone form. Alex felt havoc rage through the golem’s mana pathways as shock waves streaked through their link.

Lightning flashed—using the iron like a node—hungry magic curved outward, rushing through their companions.

And in that moment, searing pain was all Alex knew.

His body stiffened, turned completely rigid, and every muscle locked. Heat burned him to the core and his saliva steamed, his hair sparked, rising straight up.

Beside him, choking noises escaped Thundar’s throat and Ezerak’s growls were anguished…

…but the others were unharmed.

Ripp, Guntile, and Kyembe had jumped clear before the lightning hit, and were coming for Kaz-Mowang. Ripp’s knives were out as he surged forward, Kyembe’s ring built power, and Guntile’s hand blurred into her bag, whipping a flurry of stones at the looming monster blocking their escape.

His self-satisfied grin turned to a scowl as the stones found their target, detonating like pops of thunder exploding against his hide. The greater demon stumbled back and as the lightning sputtered, Alex, Thundar, and Ezerak’s limp bodies dropped to the ground.

Claygon was struggling to free himself, and havoc still raged through his mana pathways, he shuddered like a wind-caught leaf. Alex’s mana twitched and twisted: something in the trident’s lightning attacked mana, completely disrupting it.

Kyembe snarled, poised to unleash the power of hellfire, but Kaz-Mowang’s voice suddenly boomed: “Wait!”

His hoof pounded the ground beneath him. “I meant you no harm mortals, I was simply getting your attention. You would be corpses if I actually wanted you dead. Let’s talk, shall we?”

His army ringed the portal as he spoke, forming a wall that promised death.

He then tapped his trident against the ground rhythmically, demonic warriors abruptly stepped through the portal and into the world beyond.

“There now, they’ll be waiting to welcome the first of you to go through your little portal,” he said, his voice disturbingly cheery. “Now no one will flee my glorious presence too…soon. We have business to attend to! Much to discuss!”

Celpahophon, Kaz-Mowang’s enormous, fly-headed archivist, buzzed up beside his master and took out a quill—something that looked suspiciously like a human bone with a sharpened tip—and an inkwell of red liquid from the folds of his pig-like body.

Gleefully, he captured his master’s every word.

“The only thing we want to talk about is you and your goons moving aside,” Guntile snorted, holding her stones high. “Before we kill you.”

Her words were strong, but a note of fear lay in her voice. The half-orcs’ eyes were scanning the massive army ringing the portal—standing between them and freedom—and Alex knew she had come to the same conclusion he had: they were in trouble.

Breaking through the demon army would be tough on such open ground—his team would be surrounded in a heartbeat since more monsters waited beyond the portal. Ezerak, him, and Thundar were still suffering the effects of the lightning strike, and Claygon still fought to recover, his frustration bleeding through their link. The aeld staff’s mana was shuddering and sparking frantically.

Things were grim.

And from the smug look on Kaz-Mowang’s face, he knew it too. “Let’s not be too hasty with the killing. After all, I have no interest in killing you.” His grin widened. “I only want information.”

He looked at Claygon holding Celsus’ body. “Even a drooling fool could see that you came to my residence for morethan mere entertainment.” Clouds of steam puffed from his nostrils. “Did Zonon-In bring you here for her own purposes? What are you, assassins? Thieves?”

His eyes narrowed as he slowly took their measure. “You know, another guest spoke of an invasion, but I was more focused on my guests and housestaff getting to safety, were they referring to you, mortals?”

He nodded toward the explosions in distant Jaretha. “Hmmm, it can’t be a coincidence that an attack on the city coincided with you attacking my household, can it? But I don’t feel Hannar-Cim there…and her energy…”

His eyes fell on Alex who was struggling to get to his feet. “...is coming from you! Are you her agent? Is this her doing? Tell me, where is she, and where are Zonon-in and Yantrahpretaye?”

“Dead,” Alex growled. “By our hands. We already killed two greater demons who were as mighty as you. You might want to think about that.”

“Yeah, and we could make it a third,” Thundar grunted.

Ezerak’s tattoos rippled.

Guntile’s grip tightened on her stones.

Kyembe’s ringflickered.

Claygon pounded his foot on the ground, shaking the earth.

“Peace! Peace, I say!” Kaz-Mowang held up a hand, his voice jovial. “First off, do not presume that they were as ‘mighty’ as me.”

“They did not approach Kaz-Mowang’s glory!” Celpahophon cried. “Don’t be insulting, their power paled compared to my master’s. It was far weaker than his. Neither could ever match his wisdom, or his glory!”

“That is true…currently.” Kyembe shrugged. “After all, corpses are not known for wisdom, power or glory. I would question your standard for such things, fly.”

Alex snickered.

The archivist gurgled.

“You all have spark.” Kaz-Mowang grinned in delight. “Which is why I don’t want you dead. I want you working for me.”

“Wait, what now?” Alex said.

“It’s only common sense: common sense most demons forget. But, I was mortal once. I know the value of goodservants. Good mercenaries. Good soldiers.” He waved a hand at the iron coating Claygon’s form. “I recognise Yantrahpretaye’s work all over that golem, so I have no doubt you fought him, and since you are alive, I can assume he is truly dead. He was not one to retreat and…oh! Oh my! That’s Zonon-In’s war-spear isn’t it? She had complainedabout ‘wretched’—her word not mine—mortals who stole it from her! Was that you?”

“In the flesh,” Alex said, feeling his mana calm.

‘Keep him talking,’ he thought. ‘Form a plan.’

“Well, well, well! Even more impressive!” Kaz-Mowang threw his head back, booming laughter rolled through the maze. “Even more reason that I have to have you. You’re competent. You’re entertaining. You know how to flatter. Only an idiot would rather turn you into corpses than have you at his side. I pay very well, and I will ensure your lives in the material world are filled with glory.”

He waved his hand through the air as though showing off a prize. “I’ll make sure you have jewels as big as your heads. You’ll have palaces the size of mortal cities. Pleasures of the flesh, fine foods from across your world and other such wonders.”

“Sounds good. Too good to be true,” Alex’s cynicism was plain, he kept his eyes off the portal.

‘Claygon, can you move properly?’ he thought.

‘I am…regaining…control.’ The golem said through their link, giving off waves of anger and frustration. ‘I…am sorry…I didn’t protect you.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Alex thought. ‘We’ll get him. I’ll keep him talking.’

“Trust me, you saw my home,” Kaz-Mowang said. “You see the loyalty of my servants and how well I treat them.”

“What of the mortals in your cages?” Kyembe challenged him, his frown deep and his voice hard with wrath. “Do you treat them well?”

The demon waved his hand dismissively as though there was nothing of importance to talk about. “Those are slaves. That’s different. You would be treasured servants. Come now, work for me, tell me where Hannar-Cim is hiding and what you sought from my palace. I won’t be angry. I promise. Just—”

He spread his leathery wings. “—come work under me.”

Alex shifted in place, relaxing his shoulders. “I don’t know about that. I think any mortal or demon in their right mind would be pretty mad at us right now. More likely you’re going to make us tell you where Hannar-Cim is, then you know…put us through some kind of circuit of death and torment and being shoved in a cage screaming and—”

“You made your point!” Kaz-Mowang boomed. “Simple enough, we could make a pact. One that says that I will not harm you. Come now, you are obviously a wizard of some skill. You know how binding pact magic can be! What do you say?”

Alex felt his mana finally settle and stabilise. He was ready to fight.

‘I am ready…father…’ Claygon said through their link.

The aeld staff gave off a wave of spite and desire for vengeance so strong that Alex beamed with pride inside.

Ezerak’s tattoos had stopped shuddering and Thundar was gripping his weapon with conviction.

The Thameish wizard’s mercenaries looked at him over their shoulders, waiting for instructions: any signal to attack.

Alex caught Kyembe’s eye, and his nod to the Spirit Killer was barely perceptible.

But those sharp crimson eyes hardened.

The half-dark elf turned back to Kaz-Mowang, his shoulders going slack.

Around the demon, his army bristled with a mix of hunger, anticipation and disappointment: the outcome they wanted was clear. Peaceful solutions were not on their minds.

Celpahophon gurgled. “You would be wise to take my master’s offer! His glory knows no bounds and in the shade of such glory, you can only prosper! Come! Become a part of his chronicle!” His voice bubbled with something akin to worship. “You will not regret it.”

“Do you truly mean this?” Kyembe asked, taking a hesitant step forward. His eyes shone, he rubbed his hands together greedily. “You shall make us wealthy beyond our wildest dreams?”

“Kyembe?” Alex whirled on the mercenary, his voice shocked. “What are you doing? We have a deal!”

“Indeed, and how much are you paying me again?” the Spirit Killer looked at him pointedly. “Enough to face down an entire army? I think ‘wealth beyond our wildest dreams’ is a little more enticing. Come now, join me. We need not die for foolishness.”

Alex looked at him carefully: not long ago such words would have meant the man’s end. But—even though his body language wasn't easy to read—he’d found trust in the mercenary; he had half-burned himself to death to save him from Yantrahpretaye, hadn’t he?

That tended to do a lot for one’s trust in another.

However, Kaz-Mowang didn’t need to know that.

Alex scowled at the lean man as though in disgust. The others were catching on to the ruse, shifting uncomfortably, while their eyes measured the enemy ranks for weaknesses.

The young wizard himselfprepared to call on the Traveller’s power.

“You know, Kyembe,” Alex growled. “You can be a real bastard.”

“You would be wise to listen to your subordinate,” Celpahophon suggested. “Do not throw your life away over nothing.”

“I…” Alex made a show of looking at his companions with a mask of emotional agony, as though he was being torn apart by internal turmoil.

Kaz-Mowang’s smile positively dripped glee.

Meanwhile, Kyembe’s ring—facing away from the demons—was slowly starting to glow. Eldritch power poured into it. Burns crept up his arm.

Alex tensed.

“I do have one question,” Kyembe slowly turned back to the demon. “How would—”

He cut his own sentence off.

His ring-hand snapped up.

White hellfire blazed brighter than before, andeven more burns seared his arm from the extra power pouring into the ring. Even from his distance, heat washed over Alex, he slammed his eyes shut, tears running freely as he spoke the incantation for Planar Doorway.

The white beam screamed from Kyembe’s ring with a crackle of bursting bone, arcing straight for Kaz-Mowang’s sneering face.

His wings snapped out—he shot away—claws grabbing the fawning archivist.

“Master?” Celpahophon shrieked, the greater demon’s powerful hand gripped him as they ascended. “What’re you—No! No please! I must record your glory—Aaaaargh!”

His adored master threw the screaming, fly-headed demon in the path of the beam streaking toward him. Blinding light flashed, the archivist erupted in a cloud of ash, hungry hellfire ran wild, seeking the ranks of Kaz-Mowang’s army, turning row upon row of pazuzites into boiling metal and ash.

But the fly-headed demon’s ‘sacrifice’ had given his master what he’d sought, the chance to escape the hellfire blazing below.

Kyembe cursed.

“Oh shit!” Thundar lifted his mace. “We’re in for it now.”

Above them, Kaz-Mowang’s wings beat the air, but his expression hadn’t changed: even with his archivist’s death, he exuded utter confidence, levelling his trident at his enemies.

“Fall on them with all the wrath of Jaretha!” he roared. “But do not kill them: I want them alive.” His eyes lit up. “You will work for me, mortals, even if you have to lose a limb or two before you realise it! Attack, my minions!”

And the final battle to escape Cretalikon began.

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