Furnace was terrifying. More terrifying than anything Olive had experienced in her entire life. Even more so than the train ride to the city.

  Embarking on the Rimebound Express was easy enough. Whatever way Cobalt had gotten on board, it was out of sight of the rest of the passengers. It stood to reason that he would have gotten one of the fancy sleeper cabins, though, as Olive couldn’t find him once on the train. And with Rave having bought her the cheapest ticket available, all the Golem had to look forward to was spending the next twenty-odd hours in one of the economy cars, crammed between a Succubus mother and her constantly crying daughter, and an old Fallen man who smelled suspiciously like urine.

  Sometimes, Olive wished she were more like conventional members of her species. She’d take all the bad eyesight and back problems in the world if it allowed her to willfully pass out just to get through such horrid situations. She didn’t even have clearance to eat at the dining car, and once she hit the six-hour mark, her stomach started protesting. Loudly.

  Sufficed to say that when the train finally pulled into the Furnace City Transport Hub, she was the first to stumble onto the platform, sweat-soaked and starving. She made a beeline for the first café she saw, and with little regard for her wallet, she immediately ordered as many pastries as was needed to quieten her growling stomach. Which was to say quite a few.

  It was around halfway through her fourth or fifth muffin that she abruptly realised that she still had no idea where Cobalt Trayer was. She was supposed to tail him and his bodyguard once they disembarked the train.

  But that – of course – was only the first of many misfortunes to occur that day.

  After trying and failing to pick up the trail after her impromptu pastry binge, Olive miserably trudged out onto the streets of Furnace, where she was met with the overwhelming sight of buildings far larger than any she had seen before, and crowds of people that would put the population of Brimstone to shame. Without a map to hand, she tried to ask around for directions, but was rebuffed at every turn with cold looks and dismissive grunts.

  And the staring. She got a lot of stares. It seemed even in the big city her size was something of an oddity.

  Picking a direction, Olive held her belongings close and just… walked. Furnace was a big place, but how hard would it be to track down an Incubus here, right? They were the rarest demons in Hell, and with the Iron Hound’s reputation, he was bound to crop up sooner or later.

  Perhaps it would be best to spend the day familiarising herself with the city. And maybe also find herself somewhere to spend the night.

  As she walked, she opened her phone and pulled up the email that Rave had sent her a few days ago. It had the train ticket attached, as well as a list of things to prepare before the rest of the Faithful arrived in the coming weeks. A place to build a new Tabernacle, connections in the city, new recruits, a baseline plan on how to establish proper connection with the Iron Hound… How the Hell was she supposed to do all of this by herself?!

  Olive sighed. Rave expected a lot from her; she could hardly let her best friend down, could she?

  No, first things were first. Familiarise herself with Furnace, find somewhere to stay, figure out where Cobalt was, then deal with the rest of that stuff.

  It was a foolproof plan.

  At least, it seemed that way in the beginning. As the day drew on, Olive began to realise that she was way, way out of her depth.

  The first few hours were fun. Getting to see the myriad sights of Furnace helped her forget the terror of having her whole life uprooted, and she even found a few restaurants and museums she bookmarked to return to later when she had free time. The city had a rich industrial history, so when she found an entire exhibit dedicated to the Furnace’s bygone artisans and metallurgical experts, it took nearly every shred of willpower she had not to completely abandon her plans and spend the day there instead.

  But as the day dragged on and the sunlight gradually died, things grew steadily worse. Olive kept tripping over curbs and getting shunted around at road crossings. Promoters and marketers kept harassing her for her signature. At once point, after getting bumped around on a particularly busy street, she reached for her wallet only to find that someone had pulled it straight from her pocket, leaving her completely penniless. And as if that wasn’t enough, when the sun finally set over Furnace, she looked around to find that she was completely lost.

  “Sweet hellfire preserve me…” the Golem mumbled miserably, dragging her suitcase behind her as she walked down a particularly unfriendly-looking street.

  With no map and no money, staying at a hotel was beginning to look less and less likely. She had hoped to stumble across a police station or an information centre, but as she looked around, all Olive could see was closed-down stores and bars.

  “… Should’ve just stayed home…”

  She kicked at a stone on the pavement. Once Rave had given her the order to depart, she barely had any time to get home and pack her essentials for the trip. Her father insisted on knowing why she was suddenly going away, and in a panic, she told him that it would only be for a week or two. Her heart twinged with guilt when she told him that.

  “I’m sorry Papa…”

  Across the street, the door to one of the bars flew open, startling Olive and filling the air with the sounds of rowdy revelry. An Oni woman stumbled out, draining a beer bottle dry before unceremoniously hurling it into the road. It shattered into pieces, causing the Golem to shriek and cover her face.

  “Ugh, shut the fuck up!” the Oni barked, staggering back and forth as she leaned against the wall for support.

  She was clearly drunk, though Olive didn’t want to start anything, so she meekly apologised and tried to scurry on her way, but stopped upon realising that the inebriated woman looked familiar. As she tried to stagger off down a side alley, the Golem narrowed her eyes and took a closer look.

  She was impressively large, which wasn’t unusual for an Oni, but even from this distance Olive could tell by her sculpted physique that this woman was some kind of athlete, and her sleeveless jacket left her muscular arms on full display. A man of fiery red hair had been tied back into a ponytail, and as she stumbled against the wall, she caught just a glimpse of her face.

  No… it couldn’t be… could it…?

  Bracing herself against the side of the alleyway, the Oni began to vomit into an open bin, spurring Olive into action. She quickly checked both ways and crossed the street, luggage trundling behind her.

  “E- Excuse me, miss! Are you alright? Do you need help?” she asked, half-jogging across the road.

  The Oni raised a hand in a rude gesture. They were wrapped with bandages, like a boxer.

  “Told you to fuck off,” she guttered, spitting a glob of acidic saliva to the ground.

  “I know, but… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. We gotta look out for each other, r- right?”

  She didn’t offer a reply. Though her tightening gut urged her to just turn around and walk the other way, something about this woman urged Olive to look closer. From this distance, she could see a red bandana tied around her right bicep, marked with a symbol that looked like a clenched fist.

  “Miss…? Would you like me to call someone-?”

  “I SAID FUCK OFF!”

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  The wind was abruptly knocked from Olive’s lungs as she wheeled around and lunged for her throat, pinning the Golem against the wall. Her luggage fell from her grasp as she struggled for breath, desperately clawing at the Oni’s forearm to no avail.

  She wore a face of fury, worsened by her intoxication. Dark, intense eyes bored into Olive as she bared her teeth, smoke eking from the corners of her mouth like a furnace. Heat was rising from her body – rolling in waves – and her single horn seemed to almost glow with wrathful might, but all of that paled in comparison to what drew the Golem’s gaze and confirmed her suspicions.

  She bore a huge scar on her face. It lay beneath both eyes, spanning the bridge of her nose.

  The Fifth Bride. The Holder of the Bone. She who denied her betrothal once, who was punished with banishment for her sins, and who is destined to return to the fold as a guardian of the Iron Hound.

  “M- Miss Suyas, please…!” Olive pleaded, struggling against the Oni’s iron grip.

  Izzbelle Suyas raised a suspicious eyebrow, but her enraged expression didn’t change.

  “You think you fuckin’ know me?! Huh?!” she barked, pressing the Golem back into the wall.

  “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm!”

  “Oh yeah?! I’LL SHOW YOU HARM!”

  She threw Olive to the ground and raised a combat-booted foot to stomp on her as hard as she could. Terrified, Olive raised her arms defensively, catching the Oni’s kick and locking them both in place.

  “Please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me…!” she babbled incoherently, tears streaking down her face.

  “Ngh…! Let go, you dumb bitch!”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  “I SAID LET GO!”

  Terrified, Olive did as she was told. She let go of Izzbelle’s boot right as she tried to pull herself free, causing the Oni to topple backwards into a pile of cardboard boxes. The Golem scrambled to her feet, horrified at the grave transgression she had just committed.

  “Are you okay?!”

  “SHUT UP!”

  Grunting indignantly, Izzbelle unsteadily hauled herself to her feet, leaning against the wall for support as she stared her down.

  “Who the fuck are you?” she hissed threateningly, pointing at Olive.

  “Me? I’m, um…”

  She probably shouldn’t reveal exactly who she was. The Brides weren’t ordained to return to the flock until after the Iron Congregation was gathered, after all. Best play it safe.

  “I’m Olive,” she said simply, swallowing hard as Izzbelle spat on the ground.

  “This another one of Avery’s fuckin’ tests? Tell him he can send all the greenhorns he likes; he’s not gettin’ rid of me that easy.”

  Reaching into her jeans, she retrieved a squashed pack of cigarettes and lit one with a burning finger.

  “I… who? I’m sorry, I think you might have me mixed up with someone else-”

  “Bullshit! You’re here to try and prove yourself, aren’t you?!”

  “I- I’m not! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

  “Don’t fuckin’ lie to me! Only reason a brick shithouse like you’d jump me is to-!”

  “I’M NOT A BRICK SHITHOUSE!” Olive squealed at the top of her lungs.

  Eyes wide, she clapped both hands over her mouth. Izzbelle was staring at her with widened eyes, smoke coiling from the cigarette between her teeth. Looking her up and down, the Oni frowned and took a long drag.

  “… Then what the fuck’s your problem, huh? You lookin’ for trouble here?” Izzbelle asked, cracking her knuckles.

  “I- I was just happy to see a familiar face, is all.”

  Immediately, her eyes narrowed.

  “Don’t tell me you’re from Brimstone.”

  “I… um… I am. Sorry.”

  “… Right. Okay. Sure.”

  Puffing on the cigarette for all it was worth, she stubbed it out beneath her boot and barged past Olive, nearly bowling her to the ground once more.

  “Piece of advice; you keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about everythin’ that went down there. You even think about askin’ me anythin’ about what happened, it won’t matter how big you are; I’ll fell you like a fuckin’ dire oak,” she threatened.

  At the mouth of the alley, she peered over her shoulder. Pure rage burned in her eyes.

  “Better yet, I even think I see you around the district, I’ll make sure the whole Covenant knows where to send your ashes.”

  With that, Izzbelle Suyas stomped off down the street, leaving Olive standing alone and absolutely terrified. Her legs gave way beneath her, causing her to gradually slide onto her backside.

  That was her. The Fifth Bride. Someone who supposedly was supposed to be just… gone. At least according to scripture, at least. Out of all the Brides, she was the mightiest, and the most headstrong. It was said she struggled the most with her lot, and questioned the Iron Hound the loudest, but was bested time and time again through displays of strength. She came to love him as a warrior did.

  But again, that was just scripture.

  Olive remembered seeing Izzbelle around town when she was just a kid, always getting kicked out of bars, or starting fights in the street, or getting arrested by the police. It was an open secret that she was the heiress to the Sulfur Bloods, and an even more open secret that she hated being just that. So she sought to make everyone around her suffer just as much as she was.

  She was always a little bit scared of the Oni. But after a while, she seemed to calm down, around the point when Cobalt Trayer came back to town to be a teacher at B.I.D.

  That alone affirmed Olive’s faith in Rave’s teachings. Scripture or no, Izzbelle really did seem to love the guy.

  So why was she back to the way she used to be? What happened?

  The Golem’s eyes widened. She mentioned something, didn’t she? A district, and something called a Covenant.

  “Wait… If she’s here, then the rest of the Brides…” Olive mused, feeling herself go pale.

  Oh. Oh no. This wasn’t good.

  Cobalt was in Furnace. Izzbelle was in Furnace. If she was gravitating back towards the Iron Hound, then it stood to reason that the rest of them were too. That meant things were progressing much, much faster than Rave predicted.

  “I- I have to warn her,” Olive gasped breathlessly, fishing for her phone.

  “You need to calm down, little smith,” a voice echoed from above, causing Olive to yelp and almost drop her phone.

  A dark figure dropped down into the alley, dressed in a long black coat. Grabbing her things, the Golem took a few steps back as he turned to look at her, revealing the mask she had forged not a few days earlier.

  “It’s you…” she breathed, holding her suitcase close.

  A quiet laugh echoed from behind the Angel’s mask.

  “It’s me indeed. Don’t you worry about your friend. Everything is progressing exactly as it needs to be,” he remarked, pulling something out from his coat.

  She blanched at the sight of it. A sword, made from a single piece of iron, just as he had described to her. Three and a half feet long, sharpened on one side, with only a ridged surface to serve as a handle; it would have resembled a lengthy cleaver moreso than anything else, were it not for the deadly point he scraped along the ground.

  “How did you find me?” Olive asked in a terrified voice.

  “Simple. I followed my nose,” he replied, tapping the mask.

  His hands were gloved, and every inch of exposed skin she hoped to make out was hidden beneath carefully-wrapped bandages. Whatever he was, he was taking great care to hide his identity.

  “Wh- What do you want from me?”

  “Just to check in on you. To see how you’re doing. Though from the looks of it, you’re having a rough day.”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  He inclined his head, causing the accusing, empty gaze of the iron mask to burn into her. She couldn’t even see his head; the hood of his coat concealed it.

  “Clearly not. I saw it all happen, little smith. I know who you met here.”

  Stepping over to the open bin, he reached inside and dipped his finger into Izzbelle’s vomit, holding it up to the dim streetlight for all to see.

  “Izzbelle Suyas. What a fiery hellion indeed. What do you think is her greatest charm? Her brusque confidence? Or her more abashed side?”

  With his other hand, he lifted the mask, just a little. From beneath it, more bandages fell away as a long tongue slithered out to lap his finger clean. Nausea built up in Olive’s gut, but she tried not to show it.

  “… I’d wager it’s her taste,” the Angel remarked once he was done, wiping his hand clean.

  “Th- The Fifth Bridge belongs to the Iron Hound alone!” Olive stammered, drawing another laugh from him.

  “Oh, believe me, I know. I was answering the question on his behalf. It does raise another question, though. Do your scriptures and verses tell of just how your beloved Iron Hound intends to indulge himself with his so-called Brides?” he asked in a sinister tone.

  Olive didn’t have the answer to that one.

  “… I thought as much. Oh well, something to think on, I suppose. Here; I figured you’ll be needing these.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he tossed her a dirty envelope. Though suspicious, Olive hesitantly opened it, blanching at the sight of the crumpled bank notes stuffed within.

  “Wh- Where did you get this kind of money…?” she asked in a quivering voice.

  “Don’t ask if you don’t really want to know. And the rest of it,” the Angel replied curtly, snapping his fingers.

  Sure enough, there was a piece of paper in there too, marked with an address.

  “What’s this for?” she asked, squinting at it.

  “Your friend wants a Tabernacle, does she not? Well, there you have it; a property on the riverfront, ripe for the taking. I stumbled across it earlier on during my own ramblings through this… lovely city.”

  “A… property?”

  “It’s a fixer-upper, I won’t lie to you. But it’s spacious, discrete, and the previous owner is in no position to come asking for rent. So it will do for you purposes.”

  “What do you-?”

  “What did I just tell you about questions you don’t want the answer to, little smith?”

  “I-”

  “You have your purposes, and I have mine. Same with our reasons, same with our methods. Our goals may align, sweet little Faithful, but don’t think that puts you in a position to question me when I’ve done oh so much to help you out here. After all…”

  Something glinted in those eyeholes.

  “… I’m his Guardian Angel. Not yours,” he hissed, gripping the sword tightly for effect.

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode to the back of the alley, whereupon he leaped to the rooftops in a single jump, leaving Olive standing confused and horrified. As she watched the Angel’s silhouette disappear, she looked back down at the money in her hands, the sick feeling only growing worse.

  No, she had to calm down. She signed up for this. Forget her personal feelings, and move on the with the plan. The Angel had found a place to stay, now it was up to her to prepare it.

  And of course, find out what was going on with the Brides.

  Perhaps she ought to look into this “Covenant” thing Izzbelle mentioned…