by S. W. Clarke
Even from this high height, Malfius could see them clearly. Bocephus, a young and popular demon who had accelerated through the leaderboard at an unprecedented rate, was lizard-like, much like Malfius, and half the size of his opponent. Thaddeus was a beast among demons, twelve feet tall with two giant ox horns protruding from his head that he liked to swing in addition to his double-ended scythe.
The two demons squared off, Bocephus’s prehensile tail lashing and Thaddeus scraping a foot and snorting like a bull. Twin poleaxes sliced through the air as a double-ended scythe gouged the ground.
The air was thick with heat and anticipation.
Malfius leaned over the railing excitedly, wondering what they were waiting for.
“Oye, Scorekeeper,” someone shouted. “Ring the damn gong, you bloody idiot!”
“Oh, right!” Malfius dropped the chalk and spun around for the mallet.
Instead he found Ichabod’s orange eyes gleaming inches from his nose. By the fiery underlord’s pitchfork! He’d turned his back on it.
Screeching, the Infernal Rooster pecked at Malfius’s face.
He dodged the beak that would’ve plucked out his eye and scrambled away, but not until after Ichabod had ripped a quill out of the row on his spine.
“OW!” Malfius hollered.
Down below, half the demons laughed at his plight, and the other half grumbled at the delay in the fight. Thaddeus in particular was shouting orders to his kappas, demonic frog-like creatures who were excellent wrestlers, to climb that pinnacle and bring him the new Scorekeeper’s head.
Hastily, Malfius snatched up the mallet.
He swung widely at the Infernal Rooster, which squawked angrily and returned to its roost, and rammed it into the gong. The sound trembled down the pinnacle and across the entire Black Plains. A cloud of ash sprang into the air, smothering everything in darkness. Malfius wet his lips nervously, thinking he’d hit the gong too forcefully, but the ash rippled away in the wake of the blast like a tidal wave.
When the air cleared, the fight began.
Bellowing, Thaddeus hefted his scythe and charged.
Bocephus sprinted across the arena, dropping into a slide at the last minute to dodge the swipe of Thaddeus’s scythe. He slid between the demon’s legs, slashing with his poleaxes, but a demon with a BAMF of 82 like Thaddeus had upgraded his hide to be as impervious as concrete. The blades bounced harmlessly aside, and Bocephus scrambled to get out of the way.
“Weapon,” he shouted at his caddie.
“Not the scimitar,” Malfius muttered, clenching the railing so hard chips of stone broke free and rained on the spectators below. It was so much easier to determine what weapon a battler needed when he wasn’t getting yelled at. Daxos had never stopped yelling at him, not even when he was slag in Prescott’s office. “He needs a war hammer!”
He knew Bocephus had won one against Faustus, a nice heavy one with a mallet on one side of the haft and a horrible-looking spike on the other.
But the Zeta caddie picked up the scimitar instead and tossed it to Bocephus.
Malfius threw his hands into the air. “Am I talking just to hear myself talk? He needs the war – ack!”
Ichabod spat another one of Malfius’s quills out to the side, sadistic eyes gleaming.
Malfius swung the mallet at the Infernal Rooster again, but the bird sprang into the air. It only got a few feet before the chain around its neck yanked it back to its perch on the railing.
“How am I supposed to watch the match when you keep assaulting me?” Malfius shouted.
Ichabod just chuckled evilly.
Safely-ish on the other side of the leaderboard, Malfius risked another look into the arena.
The scimitar shattered on impact against Thaddeus’s chest, and the demon backhanded Bocephus across the pit. Laughing, Thaddeus brushed the metallic debris from his chest and marched over to the fallen demon, each footstep sending a tremor through the ground that Malfius could feel even from his perch in the pinnacle.
“Did you honestly think you could defeat me?” Thaddeus boomed. His scythe caught Bocephus under the arm and hurled him into the wall. The lizard-like demon crumpled into the dust, purple blood seeping from the wound in his armpit. “I am the greatest battler since Destroyer Calcifus. I will be his successor, not you!”
Bocephus lunged out of the way of the scythe, wrapped his prehensile tail around one of Thaddeus’s legs, and yanked.
Thaddeus crashed face-first onto the ground, his giant ox horns sinking into the lava plains. Red fissures crackled through the earth like spider webs, and the magma deep beneath the surface bubbled up, sticking thickly to the demon’s horns. Cementing him in place like a tar pit.
Bocephus, hand clamped under his armpit to staunch the bleeding, ran to his caddie. “Weapon!”
The caddie yanked open the pouch on his abdomen – just like that of a marsupial, except it had much more in common with Mary Poppin’s bottomless handbag – and yanked every weapon Bocephus had ever earned in battle out onto the lava fields. “What do you want?” he hollered, frantic. “I’ve got a spear, the hook swords, there’s a boomerang—”
“Something that can break through his hide!”
Bellowing, Thaddeus strained against the ground on all fours, trying to rip his horns free of the magma. The molten rock was like glue, hot glue that boiled his face with steam. But the demon had the muscles of a rhinoceros, and they were slowly pulling him free.
“No,” Malfius whispered.
Everyone knew whoever won the first match was a shoe-in for the second, and then Destroyer status. And with Destroyer status came a certain carte blanche where said Destroyer could do whatever he wanted without repercussions, including real-death killing any demon Level 5 or lower for the fun of it.
And Malfius would be first on his list.
The caddie fumbled around while Bocephus shouted for a weapon – any weapon! – and his clutch mates were as useful as a bunch of toadstools just huddled there on the edge of the pit screaming for them to hurry but offering not one idea themselves.
Just one more mighty tug, and Thaddeus would be free.
Malfius threw the gong mallet aside, dodged the swipe of the Infernal Rooster’s claws, and vaulted over the railing. His six-inch talons pierced the pinnacle, showering him with chips of obsidian but slowing his descent as he slid down the pinnacle like a fire pole. He hit the ground hard, tumbling ass over teakettle in a flurry of arms and legs and barbed tail until he finally rolled to a breathless stop at the edge of the spectators.
“Out of the way!” Malfius barreled through the demons, running faster than thought. It was a familiar trait he had retained since his reassignment to Level 5 that had made it impossible for Thaddeus and the rest of the kappas to catch him. Though demons didn’t need to sleep, sooner or later Malfius would let his guard down, and there would be a reckoning he wouldn’t walk away from.
Shoving the caddie aside, Malfius dug through the weapons just as Thaddeus broke free of the magma’s grip. Roaring, the demon whirled around, lowered his giant ox horns still blistering hot from their dip in the magma, and charged.
Malfius snatched up the war hammer and tossed it into Bocephus’s startled hands. But the battler was only shocked for a heartbeat before he spun around, cracking Thaddeus in the side of the head.
And Bocephus did not stop swinging his war hammer even when Thaddeus was on his back, both horns broken off into the dust above his head. Bloody, bruised, Thaddeus caught the strike meant for his chest, arms trembling as Bocephus leaned his weight on top of the hammer. His eyes bulged with disbelief as this younger and lighter demon had the sharpened spike of the war hammer just inches away from his heart.
“Finish him!” Malfius shrieked.
Thaddeus’s gaze snapped to Malfius, and Malfius stumbled back a step in fear.
“You,” the battler thundered.
That momentary surprise was all it took.
With a shout, Bocephus l
ashed Thaddeus across the face with his tail and rammed the spike into the giant’s chest like it was a jackhammer.
Thaddeus howled, curling around the stake in his heart.
The arena trembled a second time, and a second pit appeared within the first, this one opening into a pool of magma.
Bocephus plucked his war hammer free, tossed it aside, and rolled the defeated demon into the molten rock. He threw Thaddeus’s horns in after him, and the magma pit snapped closed.
The ground rumbled as the arena rose and returned to the uneven lava fields of the Black Plains. Cheering, Bocephus’s clutch mates swarmed the victorious battler, lifting him high onto their shoulders and jeering at the sulking kappas.
Malfius was jostled aside, forgotten, and left the demons to celebrate as he returned to the pinnacle and its leaderboard.
“A little recognition would not be unwarranted,” he grumbled, but he really wasn’t that upset about it. He was just relieved that Thaddeus would be spending the next six-hundred-sixty-six hours stewing in the Phlegethon. Six-hundred-sixty-six blissful hours of him not having to look over his shoulder.
Suddenly there was a crack as the lava fields split open. A red light erupted from the seam, and a fully regenerated Thaddeus sprang from the molten rock, his hide rippling with the fire he had just emerged from.
He tossed his head like an angry bull, slinging lava from his horns. “MALFIUS!” he roared.
Chapter 3
Thaddeus smeared a handful of lava from his chest and threw it at Malfius’s feet. The lava burst, coating Malfius’s hide in molten glue. It started to harden immediately, freezing him in place. Another handful of lava followed the first, then a third, until Malfius was trapped where he stood.
“By the fiery underlord’s pitchfork!” Malfius had forgotten that during a Prizefight, all respawn times were only six-hundred-sixty-six seconds, not hours, and BAMF levels didn’t reset. Thaddeus had retained all his strength and rage.
Frantic, Malfius clawed at the lava as Thaddeus stormed forward. If he could just break free, he could run. He could run to the boundary of Level 6 in a matter of seconds and lose himself among the jagged foothills.
His left foot snapped free, and Thaddeus’s uppercut released his right as Malfius was thrown onto his back. He skidded to a halt at the base of the pinnacle, head ringing. Before he could scramble upright, Thaddeus and his clutch mates had surrounded him.
“That is the second time you’ve sent me to the Phlegethon!” Thaddeus roared. “When I’m Destroyer, there won’t be a third! Grab ‘im, boys!”
The kappas swarmed.
“Can’t we talk about this?” Malfius pleaded, shoving demons away from him. They were all smaller than him, none of them with enough ExP to grow to Thaddeus’s size, but they were scrappy. “That first time was an accident!”
“You set me back to BAMF-0! I lost all my weapons and had to regain all my ExP. From. Scratch!”
Thaddeus’s clutch mates outnumbered him fifty to one, and whenever he shoved three away, another nine would take their places. Soon they dragged him off the ground and hoisted him above their heads. Whooping with sadistic delight, the mosh pit of demons stampeded for the river, Malfius crowd surfing on top of them with no way out.
Just before they reached the molten shores of the Phlegethon, a lone battler blocked their path.
“What are you doing with my caddie?” Bocephus demanded.
Malfius was dropped to the ground. Coughing, he spat the dust from his mouth and curled up into a ball to protect his limbs and tail from being trampled.
“Your caddie?” Thaddeus spat.
“Yeah.” Bocephus shoved his way through the crowd until he was right in Thaddeus’s face. “That’s my caddie. Do you still have lava in your ears from when I beat your ass, or do I need to repeat myself again?”
Thaddeus lowered his head with a snort, blasting Bocephus straight in the face with a sulfuric exhale. The force rocked the battler back on his heels, but he stood his ground.
“This pathetic turd is the Scorekeeper,” Thaddeus snarled. “He is not under your protection. I am free to discipline, torture, and otherwise maim him as I see fit!”
“Oh really?” Bocephus shouldered his way through the kappas to Malfius, who was still cowering on the ground. He snatched one of Malfius’s horns and gave it a jerk, popping his head out of the protective shield of his arms. Bocephus spat into his other hand and offered it. “Hey. You wanna be my caddie?”
Malfius took one look at Thaddeus’s enraged face, quickly spat into his own hand, and shook to seal the deal.
“There,” Bocephus said smugly, planting his hands on his hips. “He’s my caddie. You can’t touch him.”
“You aren’t allowed two caddies!”
“Lawrence, you’re fired,” Bocephus said.
“Aww…” Lawrence hung his head and ejected the weapons from his pouch. They clattered to the ground in a heap of sharpened points and thick chains, Thaddeus’s double-ended scythe on top.
Thaddeus shook his head angrily, slinging his horns. “He interfered with the match! It’s my right to throw him into the river—”
“Thaddeus, we’re demons. Deception and backstabbing are like bread and butter to us. Just face it. I won, you lost, and your perfect 3-outta-3 Prizefight winning record is now just a fantasy.” Bocephus stuck his finger into Thaddeus’s face. “And don’t forget what happens to the battler who fails to become the next Destroyer. Respawn, and BAMF resets to zero. That’s right, Thaddeus. You’re going to be nothing but a lava slug when I’m done with you.”
Roaring, Thaddeus shoved his clutch mates aside and snatched up his double-ended scythe from the pile of weapons. Malfius hid his head back under his arms as the blade sliced down at Bocephus’s neck.
A gasp rippled through the demons, hissing louder than the churning magma of the nearby river.
Hesitant, Malfius peeked one ember-like eye above his forearm.
Bocephus stood, unharmed, hands still planted on his hips, that smug smile still on his face, as Thaddeus strained to cut through an invisible forcefield with the scythe.
“Why … won’t … it …” Thaddeus panted.
“I won the first match, remember?” Bocephus said. “You might respawn almost immediately and retain your BAMF rating, but I get to keep your weapon. It cannot be used against me.” His prehensile tail lashed forward, wrapped around the shaft of the scythe, and plucked it from the ox-horned battler as easily as if he was snatching a lollipop from a toddler. “And since you attacked a Prizefighter outside the next match …”
Despite this being Hell, there were still a handful of rules that needed to be followed. And one of them was no fighting amongst Prizefight contestants between matches.
The Black Plains rumbled beneath Thaddeus’s feet, and a second later, a lava golem broke free of the crust and climbed out of the boiling hole. Bellowing, Thaddeus tried to run away, but the golem snatched him by the foot. Thaddeus’s talons tore furrows into the lava fields as the golem dragged him to the river.
Completely indifferent to the battler’s struggling, the golem wrapped his arms around the demon like a child would around a wiggling cat, and jumped into the Phlegethon River.
Bocephus tossed the scythe onto the pile of weapons and brushed the dust from his hands. “Now, who wants to join me at Club Avernus? I’ve got a need to see some dancing fire nymphs. Drinks are on me!”
Everyone except Thaddeus’s clutch cheered and stampeded for Level 5’s only volcano.
Malfius waited for the crowd to disperse before scraping himself off the lava fields. But he wasn’t alone. The battler and three of his clutch mates had remained behind.
“Are you coming?” Bocephus asked Malfius.
“T-to the club?” He’d never been invited anywhere before, let alone Level 5’s most prestigious club. The Lampades Sisters only danced for the battlers with a leaderboard rank of ten or higher.
“Bro, you can’t be ser
ious,” a Zeta said.
“Yeah, bro, this dude’s Malfius, you know, the one whose battlers keep getting turned into slag—”
“Can’t caddie for shit—”
“And where were you, bros, when I needed a weapon?” Bocephus snarled. “You three were so helpful just screaming at Lawrence instead of throwing me a weapon. Even a rock woulda helped!”
“But bro, it’s against the rules to—”
Bocephus threw up his hands. “Rules? What rules? We’re demons! Besides, if I’d done anything truly against the rules, the Black Plains would’ve summoned a lava golem for me.” He clustered his clutch mates around him, slinging his long arms over their shoulders. “Do you want the kappas to win? They already think they own Level 5, and I have not battled my way to the Prizefight to let Thaddeus win. When I’m Destroyer, things will change for the Zetas. We’ll be the top clutch, and you’ll have better advantages in the Main Events. My success is your success. And for me to succeed, I need that caddie.”
Four sets of eyes stared at Malfius.
Malfius swallowed.
The clutch mate with two sets of arms shrugged and nodded. “Okay, bro. For the Zetas.”
“For the Zetas!” the other two cheered.
“Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!” Bocephus fist-bumped the Zetas and shoved them good-naturedly toward the volcano. “I’ll meet you at the club. Gotta have a word with my new caddie first.”
Malfius hastily wiped the grit of his scales and cast a furtive glance into Bocephus’s face.
The battler circled as he inspected him, tapping a talon against his chin.
“You shouldn’t hunch so much,” Bocephus said. “You’re a demon of Level 5. Be proud. And quit wringing your hands. You’re making me nervous.”
Malfius straightened quickly and dropped his hands from under his chin to his sides.
“And don’t tuck your tail in around your feet. You’re not a cat.”
Malfius flung his barbed tail straight out behind him.
Bocephus had to jump to get out of the way. “Damn, bro, at least watch where you’re swinging it!”