Sex is a Job Description? Ch. 10

"You're afraid," replied the slime, trying to give him a reassuring smile. He could hardly tell she was smiling through his blurry, teary vision. The agent wiped his nose and turned away from Sohm, bringing his shirt up and rubbing his face and eyes dry with it.

"I don't even care about Ceria anymore. I don't care about that guy or the huge demon, or Lamoren, or the Division, Heaven, Hell, here, anyone, anything. I just want to crawl into a hole and wait for someone to put me out of my misery."

"Don't talk like that. You're going through the aftershocks of coupling with a first generation succubus and surviving. It's natural," Sohm assured, even as Tom pushed past her and made his way downstairs.

"If this is what it feels like then I wish she had k-"

Sohm slapped him across the face so hard that he fell the last few steps to the ground. Tom hit the ground and slid into the front door with a hard thud, stars dancing before his eyes.

"Enough," she declared, smoothly gliding down the staircase and to where Tom lay speechless. "Enough of that. You're going to get your affairs in order and then spend a comfortable evening in your own home with a goddess at your every beck and call."

"Sohm, I don't want-"

The slime rolled her darkening purple eyes. "And they say women don't ever know what they want. Men are just the same," she complained to herself, picking Tom up off the floor and pulling him into an embrace.

"What's...what are you doing to me?" Tom asked, a warm glow filling his body from head to toe.

"Giving you what you want. I'm putting you out of your misery."

Tom's brow knitted deeply. "This is what dying feels like?"

Sohm chuckled a little at that and shook her head. "No, sweet boy, this is what feeling intoxicated on endorphins feels like. See? Putting you out of your misery."

Tom didn't care enough to tell her to stop. He just wanted to ride out the endorphin high and forget last night. He didn't feel any less empty than he had last night after Lamoren had been taken away. Even with Sohm doing what she did best, he just wanted to run away from it all. Still, the feeling crawling into his brain felt nice.

------------Hell------------

Fentin's war council was gathered before him in Zuldspire Keep, seated in a neat bundle against the opposite side of the long table the army's numerous maps and schedules and logistics records were laid out on. Zuldspire still smelled of blood and fire, having been taken not a week ago after a long and ferocious siege of four months. It had taken Fentin's full force to break the siege before the fall of the long night. The lord scratched one of his horns absentmindedly and gave his council a bored look.

"Gentlemen, I've called this fifth war council to hammer out the details of our next moves against Ceria's forces past Zuldspire Keep. Before you start again like you have the previous two times, let me tell you that if we do not come to a clear conclusion by the end of this council, I'm just going to take Captain Vendr and the vanguard and move on without you."

Fentin's declaration was met with absolute silence, save for Vendr who chuckled under his breath at the notion of he and Fentin riding out without the quarter million demons that comprised the main body and baggage train of his army. However, all present understood that Fentin was entirely serious.

"We'll never get out of this bloody keep at this rate," moaned Centris, laying his head down on the table in exasperation. All present felt the same, but maintained better composure. It had been four days since the army had moved at all, and three days of debate and council hadn't changed the outlook of the coming night's plans.

Tempers had flared, more times than Fentin could count on his hands and feet together. Swords had been drawn, two fingers removed in honor duels, a hellbore killed, bribes made, slaves traded. Still, it was better than some wars Fentin had fought. At the moment, two options were being debated and fiercely defended and attacked by both parties.

Zuldspire Keep sat at the crossroads of three major routes through the mountains that encircled the de facto border of Ceria's military control. Being such a valuable point of either defense or attack for either faction, several plans had been drawn up on how to use the keep's enormous locational value to the greatest advantage.

The first plan was to use Zuldspire Keep as a staging area for three major incursions into Ceria's territory. Two would gather resources and attempt to sway the allegiance of any borderline generals Ceria had under her command. The third would strike as deep into the mountains as possible, ravaging the landscape and annihilating anything that stood against its overwhelming advance. That force would hopefully breach to the plains on the opposite side of the mountains before the long night set in and secure a staging area for the next phase of the war.

The second plan had Fentin's army split into dozens of scouting forces, each just large enough to hold their own against whatever could be mustered from the mountain garrisons Ceria possessed, and make a gradual advance through the mountains. The main body of Fentin's troops would move south to cross the unguarded southern gap and secure a supply route around the mountains by the onset of the long night. Total conquest was ensured, but casualties were guaranteed to be higher than average.

Each plan had its merits, its flaws, ways to improve, but each party refused to budge or compromise. Fentin had nearly been driven insane with objections trying to openly entertain the idea of using both plans at once. Ceria's forces could only match his own in ambushes and guerilla engagements. Any manner of open combat and Fentin's numbers won him every single battle. Despite this fact, neither party was willing to listen and were at each other's throats for three of the four previous councils.

And so the debate began anew as soon as Fentin released attention from himself. Voices roared at each other within minutes and things fell apart about as quickly as the lord had expected. Quietly, Fentin picked at a blood-encrusted rut in the table that had once housed an entrail-slickened blade. Tsathangaus growled for blood, but Fentin pushed the blade completely into its scabbard, silencing the angelic weapon.

It was at times like these that he wished the thing would just shut up and obey him. Keeping it sheathed too long upset the blade and caused it to lash out in anger, pushing itself from its scabbard to let him know there needed to be souls to part from bodies soon or there would be serious trouble. The thing had a mind of its own, possibly more twisted than the angel who had wielded it originally.

"Well, inform me of your decision when you're through here. I'm going back to bed." Fentin stood and left the council, followed closely by Vendr and two black-clad guards that Mefur had designated as his bodyguards after storming Pike's Den. Vendr didn't like either of the hornless, mute, pale demons, but said nothing to either of them or Fentin about the subject. Still, it was very apparent that the captain felt uncomfortable around their large glaives.

Descending the steps that led into the keep from the courtyard, Vendr tossed his shield to the ground in a fit of anger and crumpled his helm with his fist.

"Why do we waste our time here?" he snarled, trembling physically from the exertion of not rending his armor asunder. The helm in his hands bent beneath his iron grip. Fentin gave his longtime captain a short look and Vendr controlled his anger, only just though.

"Come, we have more things to do than just wait. The Crow is nearby."

At Fentin's mention of the Crow, Vendr's entire body visibly stiffened and his glare hardened at Fentin.

"My lord, you know as well as I do that the Crow speaks only in riddles," Vendr warned, his gaze unwavering as the two mute bodyguards beside Fentin held their weapons ready to Vendr's tone of voice.

Fentin smirked. "Which is why I have simple aims, to get a simple answer." He turned to his bodyguards. "You two fetch me some of Mefur's warlocks. The gate to the human realm can take a little while longer to construct."

At his command, the two mute, hornless bodyguards nodded in unison and hurried off across the courtyard to do their master's bidding. Fentin slumped with exhaustion and made his way with Vendr through the patchwork tent-city that had sprung up across the vast courtyard and ruins of the Zuldspire's inner defenses.

What had once been a barracks was now a blood-stained beer hall and two hellbore stables had already been repurposed for gambling arenas. Various other establishments were in the works by his soldiers, and there seemed to be no end to the influx of new faces and banners.

Every day, more and more of the main body of his forces reached the area around the Zuldspire. From the top of the spire, Fentin had lost count of the campfires that were lit every night, and it still amazed him that he had managed to gather such an impressive force with the promise of loot from their conquests.

Though Fentin's vassals were many, only a handful had more than a few hundred men to bring together for his campaign. The bulk of his forces came from Vendr, Argo, Centris, Dresdean, and Fentin's own standing army. Vendr's cavalry was the only advantage Fentin had over Ceria's better-armed and better-trained soldiers. While his own troops were professional infantry, the vast majority of his forces were conscripts or militia, briefly trained and ill-equipped to plunge into a body of veterans whose loyalty to their liege held the absolute priority in their lives.

Fentin paused as he and Vendr passed beneath the gateway that separated the courtyard of the Zuldspire from the settlement around it. Before him lay the swathe of tents and field barracks that had engulfed the long hillside that sloped downwards towards the basin where the three roads through the mountains split. His war camp was enormous, by any standards, and it still awed him to see as many souls beneath his banner and those of his allies as there were.

He shook off the feeling of wonder and resumed his pace, Vendr keeping close to him as demons on either side of them nodded in respect or removed their helms at Fentin's presence. The pair found themselves at Fentin's quarters after a long and weary journey down the hillside and to the watchtower that housed all his belongings for the campaign.

At the doorway, Mefur met him with his two bodyguards, looking less than pleased.

"I take it you're here to lecture me on why I shouldn't go see the Crow," Fentin said as he pushed his way past the mute duo that took up following him on either side.

Mefur sighed audibly. "My lord, I have no intention of dissuading you from folly today. I have already packed your belongings. I only request that you return in a timely manner."

Fentin smirked. "You should know best that I will do as I please and as I see fit."

Mefur nodded in acceptance. "Yes, my lord. I await your return."

Fentin removed his armor piece by piece, tossing them to the page waiting beside Fentin with nimble hands. Once Fentin had taken off his armor and disrobed, he climbed the stairs that wrapped around the inside of the tower until he reached his personal quarters at the top. On his bed lay his courtesan, Amern, asleep and curled beneath the heavy bedding. He briefly entertained the idea of rousing her for a bit of fun before he left, but thought better of it and dressed quietly while the succubus slept.

He returned to the bottom of the tower and ordered his page upstairs to tend to Amern should she wake and desire company. Fentin was almost surprised that Mefur was already gone. Usually, his dour servant waited for him to return but it was not the case this time. Fentin thought little of it and grabbed his pack and Vendr's, swatting the cloth door out of the way.

Outside, Vendr was handing his helm over to two of his knights and telling his armorer what he desired in repairs for his bent helm. He turned his attention to Fentin and the latter tossed the former his pack.

"Let us be off with our worries underfoot," Fentin announced, securing Tsathangaus at his hip. Vendr nodded and hefted his axe onto his shoulder. Two rune-engraved blades shone menacingly in the light of the campfires that surrounded the watchtower. Fentin gave him a confused look at the captain shrugged.

"I believed an axe would chop trees down faster than a sword, my lord," he explained.

"That makes much more sense," Fentin replied, beginning down the path to the three forks at the bottom of the basin. Fentin was joined by five of his scouts and three warlocks garbed in little more than rags and bound at the hands with cords. Each of them looked as if they had been beaten half to death with a club.

Fentin tried to ignore the clear message of dissatisfaction Mefur was sending him.

It didn't take long for the small party to reach the forks in the road and Fentin called for one of the scouts.

"Lead the way to where the Crow was seen last. We'll find his trail soon enough."

The scout nodded, giving Fentin something close to a look of annoyance. "It will be a long walk, milord."

"I've nothing but time," the lord replied.

With the scout leading them, the party took the furthest right path and began on their way, quickly losing the main road and delving into the thick forest and underbrush that made up the majority of the mountainsides in the region.

Though the night the seven demons and three men moved in silence through the dark green and red leaves and thick tree trunks that made up the dense undergrowth. Fentin wondered just how far away the Crow was, as the scouts quietly convened every few hours to make sure they were going the right way. The lord had never tracked a single man before. Groups, yes, but never just a single person.

It was maddening to have to follow these demons as they caught clues and signs of such subtlety that Fentin could not tell them apart if his life depended on it. But the scouts continued to lead the party further and further into the forested foothills, sweeping away the thicker brush and clearing enough room for Vendr to fit through with some effort.

Overhead, the deadness of the night began to show. This region was not like the fertile jungle that Fentin had grown up in for nearly his entire life. This was an old forest, ageless and tamed by no force alive save for its own mechanisms. The barren soil should have provided no place for a forest to grow, yet trees stood proudly out of the ground, diverted streams around their trunks, and several grew out of boulders, defying any logic or reason.

Fentin wondered just how old this place was, seeing his scouts' expressions from time to time in the darkness. They seemed to be just as puzzled as he was about this place, and how it had come to be like this. Fentin's army had clear-cut an entire hillside to make room for its berth, and still more trees were being devoured to feed the campfires growing in number each night. This enormous forest seemed not to care at all though, its sheer magnitude unimaginable compared to the vast swathe of land cleared by his men.

It was little wonder why this forest was called Gritenaivs, or Darkfoot. Even on the well-worn roads that had been cleared through it ages ago, the light of the Eternal Sanctum in the sky would never see the feet that trod them.

------------ A Mountain Hamlet, Hell ------------

Fentin gazed long at the ruination and desolation that had befallen the mountainside before him. Ash and snow mingled amongst the charred, blackened remains of what was once a peaceful village with no more intent to start trouble than a blade of grass. Ceria's men had seen to it that everyone here was flayed alive and the entire surrounding area set aflame in order to find him.

Fentin felt almost responsible for the children hanged from the makeshift arms of the gallows set before him. The skinless, rotting corpses stared blankly with charred eye sockets, their lives having burned out slowly over the course of several days. If Ceria's troops wanted to play this slash-and-burn game, then Fentin could be just as cruel.

"Remove their eyes and tongues, Captain," he said, giving his most noble and loyal captain an order that would most certainly bring the Crow out of the tiny, untouched cottage that stood before the three remaining members of the party that had departed from the Zuldspire days ago.

"As you command, my Lord." Fentin watched the entrance to the cottage quietly as he heard painful, wailing moans from behind his back.

"On second thought..." Fentin began, causing Vendr to grunt as another moan bordering on a scream in agony was wrenched forth from one of Ceria's survivors. "Remove their fingers first, then their toes, then their ears, their lips, their noses, then their eyes and tongues. In that order. And leave the last one with his tongue. I want him to tell Ceria what her antics have achieved her."

"Yes, my Lord," Vendr replied. Fentin heard a satisfying chop like one would hear while cutting carrots for stew. Four fingers appeared at his feet and rolled in the ashen snow beneath them.

"One at a time, please."

"I apologize, Lord. It will be as you command." The captain grunted again and Fentin heard another thick chop, followed by another finger rolling to a stop at his feet. Fentin grinned widely and turned around to see Vendr removing the demon's right thumb, while holding his hand over the whimpering soldier's mouth to keep him quiet.

Vendr looked more brutish than usual with arrows sticking out of him from every angle and all his armor rent so badly that it was unrecognizable or lying in the blood and snow around the tiny village. Blood stained his entire body from head to toe. His short white hair was matted crusty smears of it and his face was a picture of grim determination even through the runny ash and snow and blood and bile that stuck to him.

His enormous frame could withstand anything, so it seemed. Nothing fazed him. Not arrows, not sword wounds, not maces, shields, fists, nails, spears, nothing. Not the screams of his enemies, whimpering, begging pleas for mercy. Not the visage of unearned death and woe brought to this place. He was a stone-faced colossus who's only intention and purpose was to serve.

And that was why Fentin liked him.

"I fear I may have overstayed my welcome here," said an unfamiliar voice from behind Fentin's back. Before anyone could even speak, Vendr was already on his feet with his axe in hand, his gaze aflame in an instant.

"Calm yourself, Vendr," Fentin said smoothly, chuckling to himself. "We've flushed the Crow out of his nest. The least we can do is offer something as recompense."

Fentin turned around to find a scene he did not expect to see.

Atop a small child's shoulders perched a demon that was unlike anything Fentin had ever seen before, even by the standards here in the Second Circle. Two gnarled, avian feet clung to the boy's shoulders, their talons entrenched in his blue, pallid flesh. Long, almost inhuman legs covered with a thin layer of rags connected to a mesh of skulls and wire and trinkets dangling from thin, frail shoulders. The Crow's wings were unfurled to their full extent, spanning some fifteen feet across and adorned with matted, putrid feathers that would have looked more fitting on a corpse that had lain in a mire for too long.

Across his face was draped a small cloth bearing the image of a blackbird in flight. Only his eyes resembled what Fentin was used to, but even then, solid black orbs weren't normally seen in a demon from any circle, save for those who lived in complete and utter darkness. The crow cocked his head to one side and narrowed his dark, unsettling eyes.