God of Hell - Chapter 45 - A Mask Of Lies (Patreon)

Nero walked back home wearing his despair as a cloak. It was stupid of him to even speak to Cain—what had he been expecting? What did he think she would say? The woman hated him, and all their conversation did was bring back not-so-long repressed memories. Memories of the betrayal etched into her face upon the revelation at why he wasn’t there that day, her sharp words contrasted by the conflicted reassurance of Alfie and Gunther.

He’d replayed his actions over and over in his head—every time he walked past orphaned children, widows and widowers—and every single time had asked himself: if he had a chance to do it all over again, would he change his decision?

No, not a chance.

He loved Selvas, actually loved her, and he couldn’t just let her die at the hands of Mercury.

Either way, what was done was done, just like his decision to help Dolore, a decision that he didn’t anticipate having a pleasant conversation with Selvas about.

A conversation that, as he stood in front of the door to her house, he knew he was separated from only by a few centimetres of wood.

Nero braced himself, pushed down the handle and stepped in.

Selvas was sat in the living room, bow in lap as she tightened the rope around it. She was dressed from head to toe in her hunting furs—odd given that Nero remembered her taking them off.

Nero stopped his mind from wandering, he was distracting himself from the matter at hand. “Selvas, I’m sorry. I know what we agreed, I know what you said, and I know I promised I wouldn’t go to Dolore, but-”

“I’m coming with you.” She interrupted him, purple eyes tilting up to his. 

Nero raised an eyebrow. “Oh.” He said, letting that sink in. “So you’re not angry?”

“Of course I’m angry, Nero.” Selvas said calmly. “You went back on everything you said to me.” She added that with a bit of an edge. “And we will have words about that, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you die.”

Nero didn’t know exactly what to say at that, he was washed with a mix of relief and dread, both tugging his mind in the other direction. “Thank-”

His words were once again cut off, this time however, it was by the now-glowing Ember. “Yay, we’re going on a trip, I’ve missed our trips!”

“They tend to follow the unfortunate trend of me being assaulted by some unholy creature and barely making it out alive.” Nero reminded her.

Ember giggled. “Well, yes, but when you look back at it, it’s funny!”

“Forgive me if I fail to see the comedy in that.” He huffed and saw Selvas grinning up amusedly at the Imp.

The hunter turned her eyes back on Nero. “Go pack your things, best we set off tonight.”

Nero did so, all the while being a reluctant one-man audience to Ember chanting ‘Trip,’ ‘Trip,’ ‘Trip’, right above his head.

“How dare you sir, how dare you!” The Explosion Caster started, wrinkled finger pointing accusatorily at Nero. “The art of Explosion Casting is not some brutish affair, subject to the whims of dead things like maths, physics or, dare I say, the wretched bore of engineering.” He sneered, nearly falling off of his fresteed as he leaned towards Nero.

“I-” Nero began, only to be cut off by the laughs of Ember, Klaus and Mifa. All he had asked was if Erlo would be able to create explosions as powerful as the ones used to break him out of the Seal.

“Months I tell you, months!” He continued. “Of channelling my power, will, materials and piss, so much piss, into my creations and you ask me to recreate them in what, a measly week?”

“Erlo, I’m sorry-” He began.

“How dare you sir, how dare you!” The man shook his head angrily at Nero and nudged his steed forwards and away from him. Trembling, he was. As if he’d been spat on. 

Well, I wasn’t counting on two emotion-filled lectures from old geezers, but it turns out this is just that kind of night. Nero huffed and saw his breath in the chilly air.

“Oh stop it you two.” Jion warned her teammates. “Look at us, on a journey through the Tattered Lands on our way to a City, all of us, five great warriors, accompanied by the Light himself, and his Guardian.” She said, eyes burning with conviction. “Now, if that doesn’t sound like the start of a Divine Comedy then I don’t know what is.”

“What’s a Divine Comedy?” It certainly sounded like something familiar back on earth, but Nero doubted they had the same meaning here.

Klaus raised an eager hand to answer. “It’s a lie, a story that has never been told-”

“It’s a children’s tale, a descent through the circles in a quest for something grand and great, and coming out changed for the better at the end of it.”  Jion corrected pointedly.

Klaus scoffed. “You’re not telling him the whole thing.” He grinned.

Jion’s lips drew into a line and she glared daggers at her friend. “Very well.” She huffed and took a deep breath, words heavy as a guillotine. “There is a counterpart to the Divine Comedy, one that does not end with our heroes reborn and fulfilled, but twisted, broken, and a shell of what they once were.”

Nero swallowed. “I.. I see.”

“The Divine Tragedy, it’s called.” Jion finished.

“Now that one sounds more like what I see from most Descenders.” Klaus wagged his gun, grinning. His eyes fell on Nero now and his grin seemed a mask hiding something twisted and dark underneath. “Take it from a person who’s from the second, there’s nothing there for you—nothing there for us—just death, madness and a world bent on showing you the depths of its maleficence.”

“Well, that sounds fun.” Nero swallowed.

“Relax!” Klaus boomed with a wide smile. “We’re not going there, if we were, I wouldn’t be on this mission with you in the first place, friend.” He laughed, and Nero gave him a polite smile back.

He searched his mind for any urge within him to descend and again was unsurprised to find none. He hated Demons yes, but that hate was not suicidal.

Travel was easy with the group, and on day three, Nero was made aware of that when they were attacked by three Mother Sin Spinners, only to put them all down as if it were a non-event.

At night, under the purple skies, the group had decided to make camp. 

Close to the fire sat the Death Rattle, all chattering away. Nero sat by a log not too far from the group, idly observing them.

They were good people, or at least as good as he had come to expect of Hell. Jion held a reverence in her eyes towards him, one that felt suffocating, left Nero always aware of her presence, always eager not to tarnish the flawless image she had of him.

Erlo was Erlo… He really couldn't say much there.

Klaus was interesting, Nero still wasn’t entirely sure where the man sat in terms of allegiance. Yes, he worked with them now and had been nothing but kind to Stradale, but there was no hesitation when he charged Gunther an exorbitant amount to train Stradalians while the town was still reeling from the rebellion and none when he charged for their mission now as well.

He’s just looking out for his people.

No different than Nero was when he stayed behind to save Selvas, nor when he chose to wait in Stradale for two entire weeks while a city tore itself apart.

That didn’t mean what Nero did was right however, and that didn’t justify Klaus’ actions either.

Mifa was the final member of the Death Rattle and one that Nero often found himself forgetting about. Six limbed and horned, she was what Klaus had told him was referred to as a lesser Demon, the same way Imps were. Though the more he observed her the more he decided there was nothing lesser about her. She couldn’t speak yes, but her intellect didn’t seem removed from that of a human.

She was a person, and though Nero knew that, somewhere internally, he tended to forget, because she wasn’t ‘person’ shaped and didn’t communicate in ‘person’ ways.

He hoped he’d stop thinking like that with time. No, he’d actually put the effort into it, he decided.

“Nero.” Ember whispered.

He turned to see her staring emptily ahead. Her eyes were wide, seeming lost in the flames of the campfire. It was just them now, Selvas was off hunting. 

“Yes, Ember?” He asked, feeling uneasy.

“Promise me…” She began. “Promise me you won’t stop being my friend.”

Nero raised an eyebrow and sat up at that. “What, what are you talking about?”

“I’m changing Nero, I’ve been trying to ignore it, I’ve been trying to be brave, but something’s happening to me, something I can’t ignore and I’m scared of what I’ll be when it’s done.” Ember whispered, she hugged herself tight, as if affected by the cold. “I just want to know that you won’t leave me when it happens.”

Nero wasn’t even sure he could leave her if he wanted to, but he got the feeling that wasn’t what was important here. “Ember, you’re like my little sister, I promise you I’ll never leave you.” He told her, making sure to keep his words soft.

“Your sister?” The Imp smiled shakily. “I like the sound of that.”

On the seventh day they saw smoke, bellowing from within the great dark walls of Dolore, wafting into the purple clouds and burning an air of dark incense for all approaching.

They didn’t head for the city through its main gate as Nero did before, instead there was a hole broken in the wall that served as an entry into Dolore for those on the rebel’s side of things.

“Stop right there!” One of the guards yelled. He was one of twelve positioned at the entry, the biggest, the most mean looking and possibly the Mightiest of his eleven colleagues. His eyes fell on Ember but didn’t linger, it seemed he thought she was simply an off-colour fire imp. He did seem to wear a bit of distress at the rest of them, and Nero attributed that to the trend he’d noticed of some people being uncomfortable in the presence of soul forged.

“We’re here to help.” Nero told him, hands raised openly to show he was no threat. “Behind me is the Death Rattle Crew.”

All four of them waved, and though the guard wavered slightly, he still kept his men at attention and his spear pointed forwards. “How do I know we can trust you? That you are who you say you are?”

At that Mifa grunted, as if to say ‘Do you know any other group of outlaws who have a horned gorilla on their side.’

That, it seemed, still wasn’t going to be enough as it seemed the man was still on edge. He knew they weren’t lying about who they were now however, which if anything only set him off further. 

God, if the guards are this jumpy then the rebellion can’t be going great.

“The Death Rattle work for the highest bidder.” The guard finally said. “How are we sure you’re here to help us.”

It was then that Nero decided that enough was in fact enough. He held out a hand and called forth a tiny ball of burning light. “Because I’m the Light Breather, and I’m here to save your city.”

A surgeon could not have made the man’s jaw drop any further. His spear slipped from his grip and he was soon barking orders at his men to clear the path and tell no one of their arrival.

“F-follow me.” He requested and was soon making his way through the hole. “The Prophet would like to see you.”

They followed.

“You’re grinning.” Selvas noted next to Nero.

“No I’m not.” He replied, practically in sync with Ember.

The woman looked at the both of them as if realizing that she was dealing with not one but two children.

“So what if we’re grinning.” Nero huffed. “For what feels like forever I’ve been forced to hide who I am from everyone, and now I can finally be open about it.”

Selvas tilted her head curiously and hummed. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, you look adorable when you grin.”

“I do?” He heard his voice’s pitch and his heart skipped. He cleared his throat “I.. I mean of course I do.”

Selvas didn’t smile back and it was less because of him and more because of the scene before her. The streets of Dolore had been ravaged by war, it was choked with sights of the injured, dead or dying, starving and starved.

Men walked around with empty eyes, women ran around searching for their children. Children Nero knew would never come home.

“The war is going badly?” Nero questioned the guard.

“We’re trying our best my…my Lord.” He said after deciding that was the term he was comfortable addressing the Light Breather with. “But the Lady Defrid and her thralls are relentless.”

As morbid as it sounded, Nero found some relief in the gruesome sights he beheld. The city was still fighting, and he had made the right choice by coming here instead of staying back in Stradale.

He made a silent promise to himself that he would make the animal responsible for this pay.

Their journey continued well until they reached parts of Dolore Nero hadn’t seen before. The buildings were higher, the streets were cleaner and far less populated.

They stopped in front of a gate with a manor on the other side. Two guards manned the entrance and partly gave way once they had Nero’s identity whispered to them.

Eyes of awe and disbelief followed Nero and he noticed how barely uncomfortable he was with them anymore. 

Sentinels covered the manor grounds dutifully. Whoever lived here was important and Nero had considered the idea that it was the Demon herself, that they were being led into a trap, but he liked to believe he would be able to spot a trap as obvious as this one. In fact, he had spotted it.

The doors to the grand building gave way and a woman stepped through. She was dressed in an all-white cloak, had neck-length black hair, tan skin and eyes that, back at home, would have marked her Asian ancestry. The stranger wore a bright smile below wide eyes and bowed reverently at the sight of Nero. “Light Breather.” She fell to her knees and bowed. “We are pleased to have you, oh Bright One.”

Nero bit his tongue and slid down from his fresteed. So the Prophet’s a woman.

“Come, come please.” She beckoned, rushing to her feet and disappearing into the building.

Nero followed and so did his allies, they went up stairs and finally entered the woman’s office. It was a grand thing, polished wood and family portraits adorned the room.

The Prophet turned to Nero once more and then her eyes fell on Ember who smiled at the woman. “I would like to thank you once more, for your arrival, both of you.” She said, voice soft, delicate, as if terrified a single wrong pitch might displease Nero. “I prayed for your arrival, prayed for the Light to descend once again on our dear city in its time of need, and it seems like somehow, someway, you not only heard but answered my praye-”

“You can drop the act.” Nero told her sharply.

He eyes widened. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“I know a grifter when I see one, I know a false prophet when I see one too, so here’s the deal, you stop disrespecting my intelligence, and I won’t walk out that door.” He frowned.

Carefully the woman took a step back, she stood up straight, her wide eyes narrowed, her smile disappeared and she spoke with a voice that held no joy for the audience before her, least of all Nero and Ember. “Fine.”