by S. W. Clarke
“Magic sucks! Thaddeus sucks!” Bocephus lobbed the staff across the room – but it only went a few inches – falling onto his back like an overturned turtle. Scrambling to his feet, he charged after the staff to abuse it some more. “This stupid staff sucks!”
“Can you keep it down?” Malfius hissed.
Sweat dribbled down his scales and evaporated in the heat of the magma. Bracing his feet against the well, Malfius strained against the chain. The clamshell grate opened a little further, metal screeching in protest.
“What the hell?” a muffled voice exclaimed.
The door burst open, banging against the compartments. A Sage rushed in, smacking the hood away from his bat-like face. His black eyes narrowed, and he bared his fangs with a hiss.
Bocephus dropped the staff. “Shit.”
Chapter 8
“Ahh!” Bocephus abandoned the staff and scampered behind Malfius, climbing up his spines until he was safely on top of the demon’s head and clutching his horns. “They’re even more ugly up close!”
“What is that staff doing out?” the Sage demanded. “What are you doing with the well? And why is the emergency brake still in gear?”
Malfius groaned. No wonder the grate was being so difficult to open. “I, uh … spring cleaning?”
“Who are you?” The Sage poked him in the chest. “Wait, aren’t you that janitor—”
“Clutch HOG, bitches!”
Bocephus leapt spread-eagle from Malfius’s head, landing squarely on the Sage’s face. His little claws scratched up that squashed nose as he scrambled up that bat-like face to bite the Sage’s ears.
Screeching, the Sage slapped at his own face, trying to dislodge the hedgehog and getting a hand full of quills for his effort.
“The fiery underlord will hear about this!” the Sage screamed.
“No, he won’t,” Malfius shot back. “Your report of our exploits here would only prove the Sages’ ineptitude at guarding the most powerful artifacts in Hell’s possession. The fiery underlord would have your head for this!”
“Rambling!” Bocephus cried, clinging to the Sage’s ear like the world’s largest earring. “Just open the hatch!”
“Then I’d best kill you instead!” His hand wrapped in the sleeve of his robe, the Sage plucked the hedgehog off his head and hurled him across the room.
Malfius abandoned the chain and flashed to the opposite wall, catching the battler before he could slam into the wall.
“Throw me back!” Bocephus raged. “And open that damn hatch!”
Malfius hurled the hedgehog at the Sage, smacking the Sage in the back of the head. The Sage yelped as his forehead smashed into a compartment, then shrieked when the hedgehog disappeared under his red robes to bite anything he could get his teeth on.
Flashing to the door, Malfius stooped by the gear mechanism, frantically searching for the emergency brake. He practically ripped it from its socket, and the gears relaxed. Shoving the thrashing Sage out of his way, he returned to the chain.
The clamshell grate peeled away from the well as easily as an onion layer.
“No!” Wiggling, the Sage shucked his robes, and with it, the bitey hedgehog. His wings unfurled, and with a great flap, he launched into the air. Scrambling among the compartments, he found the one he was looking for, and started to unlock it.
“Uh, Bocephus?” Malfius said, still yanking on the chain. The clamshell was almost fully open. “I think it’s time to go.”
“I can’t see!” A lump moved around in the red robes on the floor. “And it smells disgusting!”
The Sage yanked open the compartment door and snatched up an artifact. It was a wrought iron scepter with a fist-size jewel at its head.
“Definitely time to go!” Malfius tied the chain around the handle of the nearest compartment, flapped out the robes, and scooped up the hedgehog.
“Ugh, that stink will never wash ou – ahh!”
With a triumphant screech, the Sage leapt away from the compartment, the scepter thrust ahead of him as he dived.
Malfius chucked the hedgehog over the side of the forge, snatched up the staff, and jumped in after him.
The Sage followed, bat-wings tucked tight against his body. Unlike the battlers, who would instantly incinerate and respawn in the river, the Sage would not. In just a few seconds he’d have to decide whether or not to bail and fly back out of the well, or be incinerated and real-deathed himself.
The hedgehog somersaulted in the air as they fell, laughing hysterically. He couldn’t see past Malfius’s bulk that a threat followed them.
“We made it!” Bocephus crowed. “Bro, I can’t believe we—”
A zap of orange light flashed past Malfius’s nose.
The hedgehog screamed as orange lightning netted over his little body like an electrified spider web.
A second blast knocked him unconscious and jettisoned him toward the magma.
Behind them, the Sage cackled with delight. “One down, one to go!”
Malfius twisted around, black flames igniting from his ember-like eyes. “That was my friend!”
He whipped his barbed tail into the nearest wall, launching him across the well. His six-inch talons pierced the rock, sliding him to a halt as Bocephus continued to fall.
With a mighty shove, Malfius launched into the air.
“Shit!” The Sage flared his wings, desperate to catch an updraft as an eight-foot be-horned demon bulleted toward him with black flames dancing from his eye sockets.
But Malfius never reached him.
Below, the magma exploded, coating the sides of the well.
A brilliant white light took its place, and the air turned thick, dragging the two of them down.
“What is this?” the Sage cried.
The gravelly voice that answered them rattled Malfius’s teeth in his head. It was the fiery underlord himself. “Thanks for believing in us, but it’s not enough. Good luck.”
The white light swallowed him, and the next thing he knew, Malfius was waking up in the middle of a cornfield. Steam wafted from his scales and from the staff he still clutched in his fist.
Groaning, he rolled onto his back, then sat up in alarm.
“Bocephus?” he called. “Bro?”
The cornfield was empty. If anyone else had gone through that weird white portal with him, they weren’t anywhere close. He would’ve smelled the stench of brimstone, and there was nothing but fresh air on the evening breeze.
Above him, hundreds of stars fell from the night sky. Constellations he’d seen the last time he was on Earth were now nothing more than meteors.
Earth.
He was on Earth without being summoned.
Alone.
“No,” Malfius whispered.
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About the Author
Author Bios:
S.W. Clarke lives in Houston, Texas with her partner and two identical--unrelated--cats. (Yes, they judge her every day.) She writes to inhabit the lives of the smartest, bravest women her brain can conjure.
Join her mailing list for a bevy of witches, wizards, and wild adventures ➞ https://www.subscribepage.com/swclarke
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Ramy Vance is the creator of the GoneGod World. Currently, Ramy lives in Edinburgh with his wife, demonic baby, monstrous 5-year old and imaginary dog.
Terrified, he pretty much stays in his office and writes.
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