Realmwalker: Kerrigan

"Taking their places. It's been a late start for them this morning. They must have had an exciting night."

The banging renewed. Uxon loved fighting -- maybe even more than the soldiers -- and didn't like being late. Once she had her saddle on, she was ready for the battlefield.

Eligos opened the door to the courtyard. "Good morning, Uxon. How is my favorite girl?"

The black and grey demon horse wore her skeletal aspect today. She nickered and pushed him with her bony nose.

Mounted, he let Uxon amble through the courtyard, out the gate, and beneath the keep where it straddled the road. The camp beyond had been entrenched for so long, nothing was ever moved, and Uxon knew the way to the battlefield.

Bodies lay everywhere. Eligos retreated to the northern side of the plains and watched the dead rise. In this place, nothing changed. There was no escape, not even in death.

A rumbling sound made him jerk his head around to the southeast. Over enemy territory.

Eligos galloped through the camp to the river and turned east. Ahead of him, up in the sky, a darker grey patch swirled. A portal. There shouldn't have been one up so high. Anything sent through would be crushed when it hit the ground.

And why did he hear that purring sound?

The gateway opened, and a woman fell into his world. Long red hair and a torn dress flapped about her.

CHAPTER THREE

BARBATOS

Barbatos lounged on his golden high-backed throne and swirled the wine in his golden, gem-studded goblet. Pretentious, yes, but it was good advertising. People came to him to find treasures hidden by magic. It would hardly do to sit on the floor drinking swill from a plain cup.

His attention wandered from another man wanting to find a treasure and willing to offer up his soul to get it. It wasn't even a compelling treasure.

Blah, blah, silver.

Blah, blah, gold.

Blah, blah, I offer my soul as payment.

The current petitioner, his round, almost bald head down as he read from the thick sheaf of papers in his chubby fingers, didn't even have an interesting soul. Barbatos didn't need another boring soul with no power. With the way things were, he didn't need another soul at all.

If this droning went on much longer, and it would if Barbatos had to listen to every page, what he would need was something stronger to stave off the boredom. And the fact that although his throne looked impressive, it put his ass to sleep whenever he sat in it, didn't help.

Relics from Barbatos' previous finds were arrayed around the room. Golden statues. Relics on pedestals. Chests full of coins and gems. The showy display was changed before each audience, so he didn't have to look at the same things every day.

None of it mattered anyway. Once someone entered this realm, there was no way out. If there was, why would anyone stay here? No matter how many treasures were found, none of them led to an exit. He ought to know.

There was never any sun, moon, or stars. No seasons or weather. The grey sky lightened and darkened at intervals, but never changed to a color other than grey.

His four companions, kings in their own rights before they arrived on this world, and who now lived in the manor and helped run the city, sat at a rectangular table that stood perpendicular to him and ran down one side of the golden carpet that led from the door all the way to the dais that held his throne.

A study in red with his leather armor and close-shorn hair, Ferno slid a glowing, but silent, whetstone along the length of his flaming sword.

On a chessboard in front of Scuris, one of the white pieces moved across several squares. His hand hovered over the black pieces, then moved to toy with the end of his ash colored braid as he decided on his move. It might be fun to figure out who he was actually playing against.

Nex's dark, slender fingers chose berries and grapes from a heaped bowl on the table. He ate even the smallest morsel in multiple bites, nodding to himself as he jotted notes on a pad in front of him. The man constantly ate, yet always looked half-starved.

On the far end, Mortis shuffled reports, no doubt playing matchmaker for his horses. He glanced up, caught Barbatos' glance and yawned behind the petitioner's back as he returned his attention to his paperwork.

All of them were as disappointed and uninterested in the goings on as he was, but as the council that ran the city, they assembled daily to address any issues, or petitions to find treasure.

It was tempting to send the man away, but another would just take his place. The hallway would be filled with people lined up to be heard.

What was that sound?

Barbatos sat up so abruptly the petitioner stopped mid-word. No one else in the room seemed to hear anything amiss. His four companions stopped what they were doing and watched him with amusement.

He leaned forward and tilted his head. There was definitely a sound. Rhythmic and rumbling. Like a purr. Had someone brought a cat into the house? His majordomo was a soft-hearted woman who had a penchant for rescuing strays, but it would have to be a really big cat to make a sound like the one he heard.

"Burgomaster Barbatos?" The bald petitioner glanced around nervously.

"Come back tomorrow." Barbatos pushed from his throne and strode from the room. With a clatter and shocked murmurs, the four kings shoved their chairs back and followed him. Any change in schedule was interesting and something not to be missed.

He shoved through the heavy double doors. "Tomorrow." He walked past the people lined up to complain about something or other. "Hearings are over today. Come back tomorrow."

A flood of angry murmurs rose behind him. In a place that never changed, there was never an emergency that couldn't be handled the next day.

Scuris quickened his steps to catch up as they headed down the hallway and into a courtyard. "What's going on?"

"I'm not sure." Barbatos shook his head. The sound remained. Getting louder. "What do you hear?"

His friend cocked his head to the side. "Nothing. Well, nothing unusual. Complaining."

Outside, Barbatos headed for the stables. "Maybe I'm going crazy."

A few miles past the outskirts of the city, the grey sky swirled into a void.

A portal.

Odd place for a gateway to open.

A woman fell from the sky.

CHAPTER FOUR

AZAZEL

The bar didn't look like a fight was about to break out. Drinkers relaxed singly or in small groups at scattered wooden tables. Some patrons perched on stools at the bar that ran the length of the room, talking with the bartender as she moved to fill orders.

Azazel knew most of them. Some of them wanted to kill him. But only mostly. Three of them sat at the table behind him.

He slid his gaze up the cards he held and eyed the man across from him. Smooth tan skin. Short brown hair. A straight nose between brown eyes. Brown clothes. He was all shades of brown. And medium everything -- height, weight, even the shades of brown weren't too light or too dark. His wasn't a familiar face, and he wore human well.

As a shifter himself, Azazel recognized talent. He couldn't tell what sort of demon lurked under that guise. There weren't so many capable of hiding their natures with such skill, but too many to guess. Djinn, maybe. They were the best, but tended to stay in the desert. A Skinwalker? There were very few of them in all the worlds, much less here.

He narrowed his eyes at his opponent. The slightest curve of lips was all he received in return. A Skinwalker wouldn't care about losing so much. A Djinn would hold a grudge and be on the lookout for a chance at revenge.

Azazel's sensitive nose didn't help. He couldn't discern anything other than the perfume of the two succubi occupying his lap. Not an unpleasant scent -- but the floral aroma overpowered more distant smells in the bar. Most of the time, that was a good thing. Some demons only had a passing acquaintance with soap, if that.

The demon didn't flinch as Azazel stared at him. He slouched in his wooden chair, eyebrows slightly raised in challenge. He was sure he was going to win.

He wasn't.

Azazel just couldn't figure out what was going to happen when the man lost. Hopefully, something fun. He laid his cards down with a flourish. "Read 'em and weep." No one cried. Hardly anyone ever did. It was a stupid saying.

The now hulking man leapt to his feet, overturned the table and sent drinks, cards, gems, and markers, plus the two succubi previously occupying Azazel's lap, flying.

"Cheat!" the Djinn roared.

Well, it was hardly Azazel's fault if he was a better cheater. Everyone did it. That was how the game was played! He shoved his chair back, scraping the legs across the wooden plank floor until he collided with the table behind him hard enough to send tankards toppling and spill their contents. Three demons bellowed and came for him.

So predictable.

"Azazel!" one of them shouted.

Azazel dove at the Djinn, taking him down with a tackle around his knees. Shifting to become a copy of the Djinn, Azazel jumped to his feet and kicked the downed man. The three demons coming at him for spilling their drinks joined in, falling on the Djinn with fists and feet.

He changed into one of the three, and kicked a second in the face. The second punched the first while the third kept punching the Djinn, who lay on the floor curled into a ball.

He backed away.

One of the succubi thrown from his lap screeched and launched herself into the fracas. "Don't hurt him! Don't you dare hurt him!" She pounded on the demons with her tiny fists.

He'd buy her a drink later. Although, when she realized she wasn't defending him, she might toss it in his face.

Azazel sighed. The fight was becoming boring.

He snapped his head around to the window. What was that sound? Was someone purring? That was interesting. A lot more interesting than hitting someone again. He could purr too, if he had the correct form.

He glanced back to the brawl. Uh oh. All four men had stopped pummeling each other, and were on their feet, glaring at him.

Shifting into a cat, he ignored the pain becoming something so small gave him, and darted through the bar. He jumped to a window, glanced back, then took his leave.

In a place where nothing ever changed, here was something new.

He had to find that sound.

Turning southeast, Azazel shifted into the more comfortable form of a lion, and sprinted in a ground-eating lope.