The heat was unbearable. They had been walking for hours through the
Fumaroles of Infernal Bloodlava, taking special care where they stepped, since
the ground was slippery, cracked, and any liquid either boiled or was pure
magma.
Nero wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform.
He was beginning to think that wearing so many clothes and packing his backpack
to the brim had been a mistake. Larinca walked beside him, hopping between the
rocks as if it were all a game to her. He was used to seeing her in a
completely different environment. In class, she was in charge of feeding
Yerong, the class pet. And Larinca, delighted to demonstrate her culinary
skills, gladly accepted the task and kept Yerong satisfied and happy, also
preventing the beast from attacking the students.
But there, outside of her usual environment, Larinca seemed like a
different person. She carried no responsibilities. There were no four walls to
limit her, nor anyone to pigeonhole her into a role based on her appearance or
personality. Down there, in a place of fire and death, Nero discovered that his
friend had a completely unknown side to him.
There, Larinca was herself. Free, cheerful, and with a wild touch.
—Do I have something in my hair? —Larinca said, noticing Nero staring at
her. He shook his head and smiled— Then? It’s not that I mind you looking, but
I do feel a bit watched.
—Are you… usually happy, Larinca? —Nero asked.
She stopped and blinked several times, confused.
—That question… is very personal —she said, trying to dodge it.
—It’s… never mind, forget it —Nero said. He pulled out one of his maps
and examined it closely.
They were a bit lost, since they had been walking without any apparent
direction. Distancing themselves from the other students was one of the first
steps Nero had decided to take, since down there everyone was an enemy. And he
didn’t want to run into any of his classmates again, in an environment with no
teachers and barely any rules.
—Why did you choose this path to descend into the catacombs with such
conviction, Larinca?
—Nero asked, not taking his eyes off the map.
—Grandma Carlina suggested it to me —Larinca said, distracted.
—Your grandmother? —Nero said— Does she know the catacombs? Is she a
warlock?
—She’s a cook. A pastry chef, rather. But she’s taught me everything I
know about magic. Not everything is destructive or defensive spells. Support
magic is also very important —Larinca said, conjuring a green glyph in the air.
At its touch, a small rock split perfectly in two halves, as if cut by a
skilled cook’s knife.
—That was impressive —Nero said— The control you must have to make such
a clean cut is extremely high.
—It’s not just controlling the amount of magic, but posture, the
pressure applied, temperature… all factors matter —Larinca said.
—Is it applicable to combat? —Nero asked.
—Everything can be applied to combat. And maybe I’ll prove it to you
soon. Don’t look back. Something has been chasing us for a while —Larinca said.
Nero resisted turning around, but it was very hard not to. A drop of
cold sweat trickled down his back. He felt an unnatural pressure in his chest.
His demon blood knew there was another of his kind nearby, and it oppressed
him, both physically and emotionally.
—Don’t worry. It’s just a flame-spitting demon. A rather common demon.
When it gets bored of us, it will leave —Larinca said. She pulled three apples
from her bag and left them on the ground, then stepped over them with a stride—,
or when it’s satisfied. The demons of the fumaroles are quite greedy. They
can’t resist food. Let’s keep moving.
—Should I speed up? —Nero said, taking slightly longer steps.
She nodded, without answering verbally. With her wand, she began
conjuring glyphs Nero had never seen before. They did nothing, but after a
while, the oppressive feeling they had from the demon chasing them dissipated.
—Did your grandma teach you that too? —Nero asked.
—Yes. But what I like most about what I’ve learned from her is making pies.
All kinds: lemon, apple, even meat! Although, since I’m vegetarian, I’ve never
tried that one, but I’ve made it many times and they say it’s delicious. As my
grandma Carlina would say, “The secret to a good meal is to keep diners
waiting.” —Larinca said, making a gesture very typical of elderly ladies.
Nero smiled. His friend hadn’t answered the question, but he knew the answer.
Yes. She was much happier down here, in the catacombs, than in her everyday
life. The way she answered, spoke, and admired the surroundings was different.
—I also have valuable information about the Fumaroles —Nero said— The
two most powerful demons, archdemons actually, are Amon and Barust. Both are
demons of great power. One obsessed with wrath. The other, with pride. If we
want the best possible pact, it should be with one of them.
—Let’s pick one and go straight there —Larinca said.
Nero opened the map and looked at it, hesitant. As soon as they reached
the domain of one of the two archdemons, they would have to prepare the
sacrifice for the pact. And he wouldn’t be able to kill his friend. He cared
for her too much. He loved her like a sister.
“But does she feel the same about me?” Nero thought. His two lab
partners, Caelth and Ezold, had told him Larinca wanted to become a warlock, so
she would have to make a pact with a demon, killing him in the process.
—I know what you’re thinking —Larinca said, stopping with arms crossed
in front of him.
—Yeah? And… what do you think about that? —Nero said, trying to hide his
nervousness.
—I’m hungry too. We should camp here for now and prepare some food. This
place is good, look —Larinca said.
A solidified magma column grew curved, disappearing into the distance at
the ceiling. Beneath it, thanks to years of molten magma, a hollow had formed,
with a single entrance and two openings placed on one side, high up, like
windows. It was a very good place to camp: easy to defend, spacious, and with
upper exits if they decided to light a fire, so the smoke would come out
naturally.
—Okay. I’ll set up the tent —Nero said, entering and unloading his
backpack onto the ground. His shoulders thanked him. He stretched a couple of
times and took off his uniform cape, freeing his devil horns and tail. He shook
the tail and wrapped it around his waist like a leather belt.
—Does it bother you a lot? —Larinca said, sitting on the ground— I mean,
the tail.
Nero kept setting up the tent, not paying attention. But Larinca was
stubborn and didn’t let it go.
—I say that because you never want to talk about it. We’ve been
roommates for almost four years, and I’ve noticed how reserved you are about
your… heritage —Larinca said.
—I don’t like talking about personal stuff, thanks —Nero said.
—I know who you are and what you are, Nero. Being reserved won’t push
away those of us who want to be part of your life. If anything, it makes you a
bit more tender than I already know you are. Like the crumb of a freshly baked
loaf —Larinca said.
Nero dropped his shoulders and turned around. He had managed to raise
the tent, but still needed to fix it to the walls.
—What do you want me to say? Yes, I’m a devil. Yes, my father is a
demon. No, I don’t know him. No, my mother doesn’t want to talk about him. Yes,
my mother doesn’t love me. No, my tail can’t be hidden any better. Yes, humans
treat me badly and demons too, so I don’t belong to either world. Happy now?
—Nero said— If I’ve never wanted to talk to you about this topic it’s because I
know nothing will change. Everyone will keep calling me a monster, no matter
what I do.
—Is that why you’re trying to become a warlock? To prove you’re more
than what people think of you? —Larinca said, lighting a fire with her wand.
Nero didn’t answer. That wasn’t the reason. He was searching for
answers. Who was he? Why was he different from the rest? What was the reason a
demon father had offspring with a human? Were there more like him? And the most
important question of all:
Who was his father?
Shaking his head, he focused on finishing setting up the tent. He was so
focused that when the little creature fell from between the folds of the fabric
onto his head, all he could do was let out a little scream.
—Hollow! —he said, while his pet licked his face, playing.
—Did you bring Hollow? —Larinca said, bursting into the tent. The
creature made mischievous gestures and stuck out its tongue.
—I didn’t! It must have sneaked into the backpack! —Nero said.
—So, what do we do? —Larinca said— It can’t stay. It’s too dangerous.
—We can’t take it back. They’d disqualify us —Nero said.
—Or something worse —said Larinca, swallowing hard.
Hollow began to play around inside the tent. Nero, unable to find a
solution, did what he did best: kept his body busy while he thought. Larinca
had seen him do it many times back in their room at Raven’s Order Academy, so
she gave him space and continued preparing the campfire and dinner.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them were sitting down to a lavish
meal: Larinca had made a vegetable stew, served with breaded vegetables on the
side and a fruit salad for dessert. Everything, including the cooking utensils,
had come out of her paper bag, which now showed several scorch marks from the
intense heat.
—Maybe I should have brought a cloth bag instead —said Larinca, eyeing
her only possession with regret.
—Cloth would’ve caught fire just the same —said Nero—. If you want, I
can carry it inside my backpack. That way, it’ll be better protected.
—No. I prefer to keep it with me. I like having all my things within
reach —said Larinca—. Do you like the dinner? I’m trying out some new spices.
—It’s amazing —said Nero, mouth full.
—Want something for dessert that’s not fruit? Not everyone likes it as
much as I do —she said, serving herself a bowl of the fruit salad.
—Cake? —said Nero. Larinca looked at him and burst out laughing. He
blushed, embarrassed for asking for something so specific.
—I do have cake. But it’s not for you. I made it especially for
the demon I’ll be making the pact with. It’s, let’s say, a gift —said Larinca,
waving her wand. A cake decorated with ribbons of dough and an intricate
pattern on top emerged from the bag. It smelled freshly baked, as if it had
just come out of the oven. It was thick and fluffy, adorned with raspberries.
Hollow bounced around trying to reach it.
—That looks incredible! Are you sure I can’t have a little bite?
—said Nero.
—You can’t. You should’ve come to the kitchens the day I made it. I made
two—one for tasting, one to bring along. Maybe then I would’ve let you try some,
but knowing you, probably… not —said Larinca, making the cake disappear back
into the bag.
—Oh, for the Goddess! I’ve got it! —suddenly said Nero.
—No matter what idea you’ve come up with, I’m not giving you cake —said
Larinca, laughing.
—It’s not that! I figured out what we can do with Hollow! —said Nero,
jumping to his feet.
Nero grabbed Professor Morgana’s doll. The plush toy was in perfect
condition—much better than Larinca’s bag—and it was made of cotton, a very
flammable material. He brought it over to the area where they were eating and
placed it on the ground, sitting up, facing them.
—We need help, Professor —said Nero, staring at the plushie.
Nothing happened.
—Maybe only she can contact us —said Larinca.
—Or maybe she needs a little help —said Nero, pulling out his wand.
Nero cast a glyph of scarring divination on the plushie. He
couldn’t think of a better way to attract his professor’s attention than using
a divination glyph. But although the symbol lit up on the toy, nothing
happened.
—Let me try —said Larinca. She, on the other hand, tried with an engraved
rune of parasitic healing. It was a healing rune, perfect for deep wounds.
The rune attracted flame-colored moths into the cave, but it didn’t manage to
get the professor to contact them.
It didn’t work either. If Professor Morgana was watching them or paying
attention to her doll, she didn’t show it—she didn’t respond.
—Professor? Professor, are you there? —said Nero, gently tapping the
plushie’s hat.
—I think we should stop for today and try again first thing tomorrow
—said Larinca.
—And what do we do with Hollow? —said Nero.
—He’ll have to stay with us for now. There’s no other choice —said
Larinca.
Nero, disheartened, nodded. His friend was right. Waiting was the best
option. Besides, they were exhausted. A night’s rest, or at least a few hours, would
do them good.
—I’ll set the protection spells —said Larinca—. You take the first
watch.
The night passed without incident. Outside the hollow where they were
camping, they could hear creatures slithering, blood-curdling screams of demons
running through the fumaroles, and the sound of the environment itself, crackling
and boiling, all at once.
When Nero woke up from his sleeping shift, he found Larinca asleep,
sitting by the fire, which had already gone out. There was no way to tell if it
was day or night: there were no sunrises or sunsets in the catacombs. Only the
reddish hue imbued by tons of molten lava.
Then, he saw it. By the campfire: footprints. Alarmed, he woke Larinca.
These weren’t demon prints, they were human-shaped, with shoes. As she opened
her eyes, he wordlessly covered her mouth and pointed urgently at the tracks on
the ground. Larinca’s body tensed. Carefully, she moved Nero’s hand from her
lips and drew her wand.
—Pack up the camp —she whispered.
Nero made a couple of quick gestures with his wand and used magic to
rapidly dismantle the camp, because the mistake had already been made. They’d
been careless. One of Professor Morgana’s first rules for surviving the descent
was: don’t use magic for trivial things.
Channeling glyphs and runes attracted demons, and, on rare occasions, wandering
warlocks. It was uncommon to find anyone in the catacombs, but as their
class representative, Siphone, had once said: “Finding someone in the
catacombs always ends with bloodshed.” There were no friends down there: only
foes.
With everything packed, they left the hollow together, wands in hand.
The footprints led north, the direction they had come from. So, they took the
opposite direction and moved quickly, without speaking. A wandering warlock was
the worst thing they could run into.
With demons, you knew what to expect: they wanted destruction for the
sake of destruction, chaos, and death, for fun. But people were completely
unpredictable.
They entered a darker part of the fumaroles. Larinca lit the gem on her
wand, which caused a couple of lesser demons to start following them. Nero used
a destruction rune to swiftly dispatch them.
—How long do you think we should keep fleeing? —he asked, glancing
behind. No one seemed to be following them.
—Shit —said Larinca, lighting the path ahead.
From the shadows, a man emerged. He wore a ragged cloak covered in
hand-painted magical symbols. He carried a massive backpack, stuffed with
rolled-up scrolls and books, tied down with belts, forming a structure much
bulkier than his back. One of his eyes was completely white, and his right
forearm was missing. But with his other hand, he held a gnarled staff—and
though they couldn’t see it, inside the head of the staff, a gem pulsed,
resonating with the carrier’s powerful magic.
—How did he get here? We were running in the opposite direction! —said
Nero.
—There might be more than one —said Larinca.
Nero clenched his teeth and conjured a defensive glyph. He hated
dueling, but if he had to fight, it was better to start on the defensive, to
gauge the opponent’s magical strength. Win by losing. It was a strategy
taught to him by one of the now-retired professors of the academy, a man
respected by everyone who wasn’t a fool: professors, students, even the principal.
—You take the right flank. I’ll take the left —said Nero, eyes locked on
the enemy.
—I was afraid you’d say something dumb, like “get behind me” —said
Larinca, letting out a chuckle.
—That’s ridiculous. It’s better if we cross our spells, it lets us
amplify each other’s magic —said Nero, logical and calculating.
—Yeah. Also… less chivalrous —said Larinca, shrugging.
The warlock stood still, unmoving. His breathing was heavy. He tilted
his head forward, letting his hair fall over his eyes. Nero took a step back.
Not being able to see his eyes made it much harder to predict where he might
strike from, if he intended to strike at all. He tried the least likely but
most peaceful option: talking.
—We don’t want trouble! Please, step aside! —he shouted. He didn’t
expect it to work, but it was worth a try.
—We’re not a threat! —Larinca added, joining in on the desperate attempt
to avoid a fight.
But it was too late. The warlock raised his staff, and magic surged from
him in all directions. Nervous and threatened, Nero and Larinca braced for the
worst.
