Knock.

  His body flinched. His eyes snapped open. Someone stood beyond the door.

  “Who is it?” He rubbed his eyes hard enough to blur his vision.

  A shadow loomed under the door. The door answered with a loud knock. He pushed himself upright, joints protesting. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he approached the door. His palm touched the sigil and turned it.

  “Who is--” His voice died mid-sentence.

  His emerald-green eyes dulled as he saw a woman standing before him. Her head was covered with a golden helm shaped after her own. Six horns rose from the helm’s openings. Her face bore a golden mask with a deadpan stillness and a small crack near the mouth. Ananke stood motionless for a moment as his eyes met the mask.

  “Yaker wants you to meet him,” The woman crossed her arms as the words left her mask.

  Ananke’s glance lingered on her mask. He tore his eyes away and started walking down the corridor. The woman stared at his odachi resting in the corner of his room. She ignored the whispers and closed the door. The woman’s shadow followed him. Their footsteps halted as they stood in front of a tall red door with golden floral engravings. The woman stepped forward. The door creaked open when her fingers touched the golden flower in the centre and traced a few Infernus letters. His head tilted toward her.

  “After you,”

  The woman stepped into the room, and Ananke followed her.

  His eyes gleamed as they met the glow of burning golden lanterns and furniture frames embedded with gems. A small glass table sat in between six chairs. Reflections of lantern flames danced across the window as the steel rang and sand darkened with blood. However, Ananke’s attention shifted towards a figure that stood in front of the window. Unlike other fiends, his long coat was in muted blue with a shirt of the same colour beneath it, lacking sleeves. The shirt was neatly tucked into the black leather pants. He held a small pyramid in his hand. As Ananke’s feet halted in front of the table, Yaker addressed him.

  “Welcome, Ananke-- the champion of the dead,”

  Ananke diverted his focus toward Yaker. Beside him stood a fiend with two small horns jutting from his temples, his stomach straining against a golden shirt. An oversized belt rested around his midsection.

  “Take a seat,” Yaker gestured.

  The chair cushioned as Ananke sat. For a moment, the world around him faded. He straightened his back. The woman behind Ananke walked across the room and came to a halt behind Yaker.

  Ananke’s gaze fixed on the man in blue. As he turned, Ananke finally saw his face — eyes black and pupil-less, his long black hair slicked back, standing still like a statue. A single black horn rose from his forehead, stark against his red skin.

  The table clanked as the pyramid left his hand and touched the glass.

  A precaution, Ananke’s eyes noticed the pyramid.

  “He is Inar— Viscount’s blade and messenger.” The gold necklaces clanked as Yaker gestured toward Inar. However, A rough voice cut him mid-sentence.

  “Titles are unnecessary. He understands why he is here.”

  Ananke paused for a second and then hesitantly nodded.

  Inar’s gaze locked with Ananke’s. “Good, the Viscount wants you to recover a relic for him.”

  “Where is this relic?” Ananke’s voice was low and calm.

  Without blinking, Inar answered, “Ashen chapel.”

  The lanterns fluttered as the words escaped Inar’s mouth. Heat dissipated for a moment. Yaker shifted in his seat, and the golden mask woman clenched her fists.

  Inar addressed Ananke, “A soul reservoir, only you can get us what we want.”

  Ananke’s back touched the chair, and his hand ran through his hair.

  “There are a few things that even I cannot do; invading a dead wraith-tyrant’s lair is one of them.”

  The soulless gaze of Inar focused on his half-molten medallion.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Nice medallion you got there…”

  Ananke froze in his place. His heart skipped a beat as the words spoken by the messenger reached his ears.

  Inar’s gaze pierced Ananke, “If you want to know the fate of its owner, give us what we seek.”

  Before Ananke could fully grasp the meaning behind those words, Inar addressed him again, “Three days from now, we will meet again, here.”

  Ananke’s fingers tightened around his medallion.

  The room around him faded without warning.

  ————————————————————————

  Ananke’s palms rested on his face, and a heavy breath escaped his nose. His shoulders were embraced by a woman dressed in white, their spotless bed cushioned as both of them sat on it. The birds’ chirps reached them through a blue wooden window. Ananke lifted his head, her striking red eyes met his, and her delicate white arms caressed his cheek. Her arms stroked his back, and he found comfort in her embrace.

  ————————————————————————

  “Ananke!”

  A familiar voice reached out to him. The voice carried a hint of worry. His body flinched. The golden masked woman pulled him back to reality. She steadied her breath. Ananke pushed himself up and approached the door. He left the three fiends as he stepped out.

  Soon, Ananke approached the Arena’s entrance. He passed the blood wager pit on his way; the noise of the wagers slowed down and turned into murmurs as Ananke passed.

  Ananke, however, did not seem to pay attention. “Fate of its owner…” Those words echoed in his mind. He steadied his breath and kept replaying the entire conversation. But failed to find anything out of place. A mild pain appeared in his head.

  He clutched his forehead and thought,

  I need some ale.

  His feet carried him through the streets of the Pitt. The stone pavement was spotless, with black buildings and gold decorations standing on either side. The shine of the decorations irritated Ananke. He looked down and kept moving.

  Few cambions with deformed horns and wings scrubbed blood from stone in silence. The blood spilt was being washed into holes placed periodically on the right side. However, they stepped aside when Ananke made his way. Chains rattled on the left as a few coffles were whipped. Two fiends on his right pounced on each other, yet they halted when the chilling presence of Ananke passed. Voices lowered into cautious murmurs.

  Ale offered temporary quiet. He passed through many stalls that were small and not promising. He had caught a cold from drinking ale from those small stalls, cold…in Abaddon, he scoffed.

  Grateful, low grumbles escaped from stall owners as Ananke’s feet carried him away from them. A few of them exhaled as if they held their breath. Ananke’s footsteps echoed across the streets. His gaze was fixed on the stone road below. “Nice medallion…” The messenger’s words rang in his ears. Ananke clenched his fists but let them go.

  What can I do?

  His feet dragged him around on the streets as he was lost in his thoughts. His attire and absence of wealth drew wary glances. Ananke’s breathing picked up pace.

  I know his kind.

  Ananke’s footsteps halted as he came across two fiends facing each other.

  “That belongs to me!” The fiend on the right side pointed his sharp claws at a necklace.

  The fiend on the left wrapped his fingers tight enough for his nails to dig into his palm and growled, “Come, take it!”

  Ananke stood to a side along with other fiends. His eyes were observant as the two fiends fought each other. They roared, growled, hissed, and cursed as the time passed. One of them managed to break the other’s arm.

  CRACK.

  A loud, sharp growl escaped the fiend’s mouth; the faint orange glow inside his mouth was clearly visible as he screamed. He continued screaming as the attacker snatched the necklace from his neck and went on his way. The scene failed to hold his interest.

  Law of greed, if thou believe something is thine, prove it by thine strength.

  Nobody cared about the injured, as suffering rarely interrupted routine. ; their feet carried them away as soon as the duel ended. Ananke did not look back.

  He was about to leave when the corner of his eye caught a small cambion. Opportunity tempted the child, he swiped the injured fiend’s ring and was about to run away. But before he could, Ananke caught him.

  “Put it down.”

  The little cambion’s face twisted in fear; he expected death. He quickly placed the ring back. Ananke let him go.

  The law also says: thieving fiends are worse than filth and thou shalt be executed.

  I may have saved him today, but what about tomorrow?

  After a moment of silence, he whispered, “Ashen chapel…” I wonder what is in there, he thought.

  The two suns on the horizon set as he stood before a Tavern. A small board placed right on top of the door read. “Devil’s delight, taste food from the devil’s own chef!”

  It was a two-storey building made of grey stone, with gold accents along the edges. Inside, the torches flickered, mugs clanked, and laughter escaped. The smell of ale and meat filled his mind.

  The door creaked as Ananke stepped in, his emerald green eyes came to a halt. Before him, a young cambion wiped the table clean; his tunic was faded, his burning red eyes looked dull. The slightly upturned nose, small mouth with a gentle downward curve to the corners. Ananke’s heart skipped a beat. The boy noticed him and froze in his place.

  THUD.

  Before Ananke could talk, a fat, dark red-skinned fiend beside the boy kicked him hard enough to knock him down.

  “What are you looking at, you bastard? Clean the tables as I said.”

  He spat on him and made his way toward Ananke. His disgusting belly flopped above his white trousers, his neck covered with bronze and blackened gold chains, which moved as he turned his gaze toward Ananke. A smile stretched across his face, exposing his gold-plated fangs. “What do you want, sir?”

  The torches in the tavern fluttered, and conversations faltered into uneasy silence. Ananke’s gaze did not move away from the boy. The tavern owner spoke again. The boy rubbed his ribs as he bit his tongue. “What do you want, sir? We have the best Grog chops, ribeye ste— ”

  “Blood ale.” Ananke interrupted with a distorted voice; his gaze pierced the owner.

  The owner shifted uncomfortably and bowed down. Soon, he left for the kitchen.

  Outside the tavern, in the alley, a golden mask watched in silence.