Chapter 4 - Thy Will be Done!

[Jack]

Level 9 - Cocytus (Lolindir)
As the portal opened up reveling to him his destination his eyes glanced about the frozen wasteland he stood within. A smirk formed upon his lips as his eyes glanced at the form and three faces of the Fallen Angel Satan as it chewed upon the three traitors. As he stepped out of the portal his metallic feet crunched upon the hardened ice and snow about him. Before the portal started to close his sensors started to scan the area so he could see what all was around him aside from the giant three headed form of Satan.

When the portal behind him finally closed up the freezing wind produced by Satan?s eternally flapping wings finally started to affect Lolindir?s body. Ice quickly formed upon his wings as the ice about his feet started to pile up and surround his body. With a growl his eyes closed in concentration as his internal power core started to power up. Slowly his body started to heat up before the energy shattered the ice that had started to surround his entire body while launching him into the air at the same time.

As the hovered within the air above his shattered prison of ice a smirk showed on his face as he drew from his side the saber hilt. As he held it before him he slowly ignited the hilt causing the dark blue blade to come to life, surrounded by its black aura. As he stared at Satan the dark glow of his saber was lifted up to before his face while his internal power kept his body from becoming overcome by the frozen wind once more. As he finally returned to the ground his sensors finally finished detailing the level of hell which he stood within.

While thinking over the data he had received upon the area a sigh and shake of his head was given before he turned and started to walk through the wasteland which reflected what soul he had. As he wandered constantly scanning the area for any changes his eyes watched the frozen souls trapped within their frozen tombs. As he wandered though the storm of snow and ice one icy tomb caught his eye. As he moved over to the ice his hand came up to brush away the snow from the soul?s face his eyes widened for a second before he walked off laughing from the sight of the soul he had seen.

[Jack]

(Kurai)
The scales of a wyrmling white dragon glisten like mirrors in the cold icy wasteland. The being wandering here knows this is not his domain as things get a bit more chilling. The soul that he has seen was mearly an image of the one coming torward him in a somewhat calm but eerie manner. As the dragon looking to be very old and very wise aged scales of pale blue and light gray are mixed in with the white. A white dragon is distinguished by a beaked, crested head and is accompanied by a crisp, faintly chemical odor. It steps out infront of the being far taller and larger than himself, gallantly spreading out its wings and saying in a language that any could understand.

"You are in my territory, i do not believe you have the right to be here...what is your purpose...and do you bear gifts for me?" The dragon says in a low deep tone sure to make any sane creature run and cower behind a rock. The beast looks at the being in a bemused look....and waits half way bored half way amused for a answer...trying to keep its temper at bay so things would not become inhabitable to live in for anything or being...

[Jack]

(Lolindir)
As he looked up to the large doors which stood between the eighth level of hell and the ninth a smirk formed upon his face. As he examined the door and it’s weaknesses a thought crept into his mind and as he continued to examine that large work of art he solidified his thought. As he drew his sword’s hilt from his side and activated the glowing blade his eyes slowly closed. As the hum of the energy blade was drowned out by the roar of the frozen wind he opened his eyes once more to look above at the door which blocked his way out.

With what seemed like a slow motion he jumped up into the air and started to flap his ice covered wings at the same pace as the hum of his saber. As the saber was brought above his head he charged forward at the door and started to slash at it. As the lighted cuts appeared in the door he back flipped away from the door. As he hovered in the air before the door once more he deactivated his saber and placed its hilt back at his side.

Slowly the door he was standing before started to creek and bend as the slashes that had been done to it started to give off a stronger glow. Slowly pieces of the door started to collapse upon themselves in a shower of dust and snow. When things finally settled down once more the passageway between the two levels of hell was opened and Lólindir was gone from the air before the broken door.

As he flew out of the passageway and into the fiery eight level of hell his eyes glanced about at what all was there. Soon his sensors started to detect the souls which were still within the level. It didn’t take long for him to realize that something had already gone through and most likely destroyed the souls of the Damned that had been in the level he now stood.

Slowly he started to laugh coldly as he flew out into the blood red sky. The only thought upon his mind was meeting the one who had caused this much havoc upon the souls of the dead.

[Jack]

Level 7 (Haveti)
A sweet smell drifted to Haveti's nostrils, one that recalled memories of feasts of honor and banquets for brood mates. Haveti blinked himself awake and rose into a crouch.

A breathtaking sight worthy of the Gods' divine mercy swam before his waking eyes. Armored and armed infidels tore at each other in battle, dead yet dying and forever locked in combat, a fate the envy of any proud warrior. Their bloody forms ran amid the trees, which he saw had faces which were twisted in agony, branches that clawed at the sky in pain.

Works of art that filled Haveti with an inspired awe of the bounty of the Gods. Dark shapes moved in the branches, but Haveti, with his poor vision, couldn't discern them.

"HATAAIII!!!" Haveti leapt into a fight between two Nazis and a Turkish peasant, swinging his balled fist into the neck of the peasant, as Nazi's bloody faces looked up in surprise at Haveti's ecstatic grin. He swept their legs out from under them with one low sweeping kick, rolling onto the first and tearing at his throat with one hand, while clawing at his face with the other. The second Nazi recovered and tackled Haveti from behind, groping around Haveti's bald head for purchase of soft eyes.

Haveti sunk his sharp teeth into the German's hand, hearing his teeth click together as they met. With a mouthfull of Nazi flesh he spun and backhanded the screaming man, who fell to the ground, clasping his newest wound.

Forgetting his opponents, Haveti was lost for a moment in the sounds of battle around him, dreamily touching the bark of the beautifull trees. He swallowed the chunk of flesh. Blood, Haveti thought. That's the sweet smell here...

Still beaming at his good fortune he ran through the trees untill he met a samurai, and as he deftly dodged the ronin's swordstrike, he could only think, What glory have I brought the Gods that I find such a paradise? He leapt into the air and turned, his kick finding the samurai's jaw and shattering it. To his surprise, the samurai continued on toward him, not like a cowardly infidel at all but almost a true warrior.

Haveti moved with the honed speed of his years and years of battle, grasping the sides of the samurai's head and twisting, snapping the man's neck. To his surprise and pleasure, the man continued to writhe on the ground.

The Alien to this Hell turned in his shining black armor, looking for new battle to bring glory to his Gods. His tattooes were visible to any who were close enough, or rather, foolish enough to risk his presence.

[Jack]

(Haveti)
The Minotaur roared again, a deep bassy sound that reverberated throughout Haveti's frame. The Minotaur swung an ancient iron club half the size of the man's body in a quick downward stroke, smashing an exposed root of one of the lovely trees.

Haveti had appropriated a slim bayonet from one of his adversaries of the day, and he moved in close again to the Minotaur and added another raw and bleeding strike to the slashes he had already cut across the Bull's upper torso and neck. As the beast roared and swept the club in a low horizontal arc which might have shattered his legs, Haveti deftly backflipped, landing into a rolling crouch, resuming the distance he had held on the Minotaur for most of the morning.

Such had been Haveti's time spent in Hell, a constant war with a never ending supply of adversaries, always new and refreshing, with different weapons and techniques and appearances.

"Pray the Mercy of the Gods grant you pain into redemption!" Haveti only half dodged the next stroke of the Minotaur, letting one shoulder catch the blow slightly, using his spin to inflict a deep cut across the Bull face, through one of it's menacing eyes. Haveti pulled back his head and laughed at the Minotaur's pain and apparent weakness.

The shiny black carapace of Haveti's right shoulder had shattered, and glossy shards of it stuck out from his bleeding flesh. He messily scraped the pieces away. As the Minotaur clutched it's lost eye and screamed in rage, knocking aside tree after gnarled tree, Haveti wandered away.

Pray the many eyes of the Gods watch their slaughter, and render them judged, Haveti thought. As he strode on towards the City of Dis, the wide expanse of boiling blood stretched across his path. He leaned down to sample it, and it was indeed most delicious, scalding his tongue with the lasting inflection of rich taste.

Minding his bayonet, which he had taken a fancy to, Haveti lowered himself into the scalding red, relishing every moment of his agony and the honor it gave him.

Not an excellent swimmer, Haveti managed to reach the opposite shore just barely without drowning in the burning blood, noting with dissappointment that his shoulder wound had sealed itself, an angry welt of exposed scar tissue, lined with tattoo and framed by the edges of his broken shoulder armor.

Pyres of smoke blew in the distance, although Haveti's vision could not discern it. Only the acrid stench of the Heretical dead lead his way to the sixth level of Hell. A stench he was becoming very familiar with.

Pray fleeting judgement upon those who would oppose me, Haveti thought. The abomination Laura Deloessian will be slain in the glory of the Gods.

Haveti's face twisted into a grin, and he could only imagine what wonders the next circle of Hell would reveal to him.

[Jack]

(Haveti)
A large Iron wall, coroded with rust, barred Haveti's passage to the next sacred land of Hell. Scaling the wall was difficult, and by the time he crouched at the top his elbows, palms and knees were slick with blood.

He wasn't concerned, however, as his immune system was so ridiculously overpowered that the possibility of tetnus infection was laughable. Antibodies in Haveti's blood stream were so powerfull that they kept fighting even after the blood has left his body, giving his blood the ability to infect and destroy others it contacts.

Smoke rose from the plains behind the wall, although Haveti couldn't see any farther. The inside of the wall was smooth and unmarred by time, giving the inhabitants of the city no hope of escaping overtop it.

Haveti continued on, the only clear direction in his head was to follow the upslope of the land into the higher levels of Hell.

[Jack]

Level 8 - Malebolge (Thanatos)
As he passed through the portal he had made for himself, pain obliterated his thoughts. He felt himself being ripped apart, his very soul feeling pulled in a multitude of directions. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that he recognized the feeling. As the light struck his vision while he tumbled out of the portal and the tearing sensation stopped, he screamed a curse. The creator of this world had been more intelligent than most - and once again the half-dead traveler had arrived in what was arguably his rightful place, the Malebolge.

He hit the ground hard, his limbs suddenly much weaker than even what was usual and unable to hold his weight. Facedown, his sword hilt jamming uncomfortably into his stomach, he writhed on the ground as he slowly accustomed himself to the pain. His heart felt like it was burning within his chest, and his lungs felt they were full of fire. He struggled to his hands and knees, hands clawing into the grey stone, and spat blood onto the floor in front of him.

Forcing the pain and the sickness he felt coming on himself to the back of his mind, he struggled slowly and shakily to his feet. Around him the sinners that had been banished to the Tenth of the Malebolge’s pouches shuffled about in their sickly misery, the misery Thanatos felt himself sharing with them. He gritted his teeth and drew his sword, using it as a walking staff to steady shaky limbs as he struggled up the nearest side of the valley.

A flash of pain that literally blacked out his vision momentarily at the top, and he was suddenly released from torment. There was still pain, and now a great deal of soreness, but being mostly alive released him from the inflictions of the pouches as long as he was not in the valley. He looked down at himself, ensuring that the temporary infliction had caused no permanent damage. He grimaced as he saw the bits of grey dust now stuck in the head of the embroidered silver dragon that made its appearance on his left breast, the rest of the sinuous shape coiling itself about his arms and torso and spreading its wings across his back. All in all though, not having to worry about finding some way to recover fingers lost to an extreme case of leprosy was encouraging.

He cursed again as he looked about him through the mist and saw what he instandly recognized as the outlines of Giants in the distance. He was on the wrong side of the tenth pouch, and it meant there was just that much more of the Malebolge he had to cross before he could be free of this wrenched place. There was no use delaying it though - he gritted his teeth and stepped back down into the valley, forcing himself to become ghostlike and so endure even greater pain, but spare his physical form from permanent harm.

He sheathed his sword, seeking as much as possible to blend in with the dead around him. His steps were slow, and extremely painful. Whatever he had been inflicted with, it made his limbs extremely weak, and he only felt them growing weaker. He did not scream as the other sinners did, as he knew he would have if he, like them, had no hope of escape. Every few minutes his legs gave way underneath him, and he found himself covered in filth in short order. His breath came in shorter gasps, and he felt almost as if the air was thinning.

As he fell again, for what must have been the hundredth time, his eyes fell on one of his hands and caused him to curse repeatedly. Sores were beginning to open up on his flesh, and he now noticed the steadily-increasing pain that before had been masked by the white-hot burning sensation in his chest. As the hours passed, and he slowly shuffled step by painful step across the pouch, the agony continued to intensify - beyond levels which would have simply shut a typical mortal’s nervous system down. Thanatos fell on his face again, and was unable to rise.

Two hours later, a group of wailing sinners stomped across his back as they scratched and bit and tore at their own already lacerated flesh, waking him from his stupor. He looked up, and saw the other side of the pouch ahead of him. It was still a ways away, and his legs were still to weak to be of any use. Gritting his teeth with a fierceness that scared a clump of souls ahead of him out of his path, he raised himself as far as he could on his arms and began to drag his sickly form across the ground.

[Jack]

Thanatos spun, his foot making contact with the demon’s face and sending the creature sprawling. He reached out with his empty right hand, and a shadow sped across the ground from him to the demons surrounding him. When it came underneath their feet, spires of darkness suddenly thrust up from the ground, stabbing into the whip-wielding demons. Thanatos grabbed three more souls, and immediately thrust their power at the small group of demons that remained, and the last of his attackers were consumed in freezing black flames.

Thanatos took a deep breath, slowly exhaling. Despite the horrendous crick that the fourth pouch had left in his neck, he was feeling much better. He had barely escaped the ninth pouch alive, as stepping into it has caused numerous cuts to open up on his flesh, cuts which grew as he raced across the pouch and almost left him decapitated and without a left arm or bowels. The eighth pouch had been pure torture, and his flesh still carried the sting of the flames into which he had fallen and done nothing but burn for hours. Such had been the seventh pouch as well, when almost immediately upon his arrival he had been bitten by a great snake and then, once the snake had switched its form into a man and Thanatos had taken on the shape of the serpent, he was forced to spend several hours chasing down another sinner to transform himself back into a man. The heavy cloak given to him among the hypocrites in their punishment was not nearly so horrible by comparison, merely costing him time instead of threatening loss of life or limb.

Meeting the Malebranche amid the river of boiling pitch had been quite a treat. Thanatos didn’t have the power on his own to slay them, but it had been a simple matter to convince the demons that one of their number was seeking to betray them. After he had set them on several of their own in such a fashion, the bloodlust had set in and it had become easier and easier to gently persuade the demons to tear each other apart for less and less reason. Fueled by the souls of those Malebranche, passage through the fourth, third, and second pouches had been much simpler. He had abandoned his clothing after passing through the second pouch, as after being knocked down on several occasions the nuts sticking to his clothing became unbearable. He now walked the paths of Hell dressed in nothing but his mithril tunic and sword belt, neither of which did much to conceal his most private areas.

He looked ahead of him and grinned. More of the demons were coming to attack him now - they never seemed to realize that doing so only made him stronger. He felt the souls within the sheath of his sword attempting to tell their brethren as much, but Thanatos swiftly silenced them. Black lightning cascaded from Thanatos’ outstretched hand, lancing through the demons more easily with every one that fell to him. There were many though, and several did get close enough to him that his exposed flesh felt the sting of their whips. His blood hot with anger at being touched, he grabbed the two who had touched him in tentacles of dark magic, and spread their limbs apart in the air. With a great deal of force he thrust them into a wall of rock, and he walked towards them with an expression of cruelty envying any that Lucifer may have ever given.

“What are you going to do with us?” one of the trembling demons asked. The other, obviously braver one simply spat at Thanatos when he got close enough. Thanatos was suddenly very tempted to slit the demons throat, but he knew he could find better uses for them. A bit of Thanatos’ power manifested itself as a thin black thread, and it thrust through the spitting demon’s lips - binding them together.

“Tell me everything you know about the world above.” Thanatos demanded, “The sinners here are useless to me - as they know only the past and future.”
And so the demon began to talk, faster and faster to the point that Thanatos thought he might pass out. He told of the opening of he portal to Hell, of the darkening of the sun and of the Queen and the hopes and dreams of the world. As he spoke, Thanatos’ smile grew wider.

After a half hour of interrogation, Thanatos raised a hand and declared it to be enough. The demon looked at him with a mixed expression of relief and fear, a look that turned to horror as black tendrils extended themselves from Thanatos’ hand, reached into the wall to which the demon was pinned, and extracted nail-like spires of sharpened rock.

The spires slammed through the gagged demon, thrusting through his gut, wrists, and ankles - pinning him to the wall. More thrust through the limbs of the talkative demon, and pinned him to the wall as well.

Thanatos smiled as the demons writhed in agony, and the one which had spat at him tore his lips off as he opened his mouth and screamed. “Don’t worry,” Thanatos said, looking at the one which had spoken to him, “I’ll spare your life.” With that, the darkness on the wall to which the lipless, screaming demon was held seemed to reach out and grasp him, and then it began to squeeze. Thanatos watched with amusement as the demon’s eyes bulged out of his head and his screams stopped as the last air was forced out of his lungs. It took a full thirty minutes for the demon to die, but Thanatos was in no hurry. Waving in a manner of mock cheerfulness to the talkative demon he left crucified on the wall, Thanatos walked off towards burning sands.

[Jack]

(Thanatos)
Thanatos scrambled across the burning sand, suddenly questioning the wisdom of discarding his filthy clothing as the ground blistered his feet and the unavoidable bits of flame that came wafting down through the air singed his hair and flesh. At least he blended in with the many other naked people who milled about or lay in their misery in the sand. Still, as he approached the twisted gnarled woods, he found himself very much wishing for some clothing.

He slipped through the plants and trees as quietly as possible, hoping that they might be too caught up in their own misery to notice him, hoping not to arouse the attention of the harpies. He hated harpies, not because they were particularly difficult to kill, but they gave him virtually no power when he took their pathetic souls and they tended to scream horribly when they died. Occasionally, the souls would continue screaming even after they had been wrenched from their bodies, and that was when they got very, very annoying. A thought suddenly occurred to him, and he grinned; of course, they were like banshees - some of most fun souls to implant in gifts to others. The pain they could inflict on a person if they slipped into their skull was absolutely delightful to watch.

In the midst of his thoughts, he failed to notice a small sapling in his path - a soul who had only recently been cast down to this ring. He fell on his face, and had the misfortune to land on the only bush in the immediate area that had thorns more than three inches in length. One pierced him directly through his left palm and several tore through the skin on his left arm., which he had instinctively extended to catch himself. Other thorns scraped down his chest - cutting him where they could through his chain mail, and had several of them not been broken against the mithril rings the minor, but incredibly painful, scrapes he received to more delicate parts would have been much more severe.

He wrenched his hand free quickly, and in spite of himself he screamed loudly. His scream was taken up by the bush he had injured, and in turn by many of the trees around him. In moments Thanatos heard something he had very much not wished to, the beating of wings - too many wings - and screams of what he knew could only be those wonderful bird-women.

Thanatos cursed, and with the thorn still lodged in the middle of his sword hand he drew a shorter dagger in his right. The first harpy swooped down at him, claws extended. He sidestepped deftly, but was still struck by a talon high on his right shoulder and knocked backwards into what was fortunately a very soft rotting tree. As more of the creatures swept towards him, he extended his hand, grasping for the shadows beneath the many trees. The harpies suddenly found themselves dodging rapidly as the shadows themselves sprung up in the shape of narrow, sharp spikes that thrust upward and back rapidly, chasing the flying beings. Several were impaled, plummeting out of the sky as the shadows rapidly extracted themselves from the corpses.

Flying skillfully through his barrage, one of the harpies came in for another attack. Thanatos again extended his hand, and the shadows around him flowed up his body and into it, causing his hand to appear to grow larger and extend outwards from himself and towards the bird creature, catching and crushing it before Thanatos spun and released the corpse towards its sisters. As it flew upwards he withdrew his hand, balling the dark energies up around it, and then thrust his arm outwards as the controlled shadows became a spear that struck down two more demons before the shadows flowed rapidly back off of him and onto the ground.

They came faster, forcing him to set up a sphere of protection around himself that they began to claw and scratch at, batting themselves against it like moths against the glass of a lantern. Thanatos bided his time, building up what power he had within his hemisphere, allowing the battering of the creatures to force it ever smaller, and render his energies ever more compact. After a few moments the darkness within his protective shield had build up to the point where he could no longer even hear the screams through its thick haze. He nodded to himself, sensing their presence with what other senses he had, and focusing himself on their position, he let the energies go.

Like a ball of exploding black fire, the magics raced outwards. They followed twisting pathways, but like heat-seeking missiles they all found their prey, striking the harpies primarily in the chest where Thanatos hoped the removal of their lungs might help the screaming a bit. When the fires ceased, the harpies that remained wheeled about in the sky and fled, screaming angrily as they went.

Thanatos heard a scream from behind him, and turned with barely enough time to duck and keep his head on his shoulders and out of the talons of a harpy. Glancing around himself, he realized that she seemed to be the only one that had decided to stick around. She was larger than the rest, her eyes showing an age and viciousness greater than the others as well. She very skillfully dodged as he thrust at her with more of his powers, and managed to slash his cheek with her claw.

Again and again she dived at him, each time seeming to come just a little closer to hitting something really vital. Thanatos was growing tired, and his ability to strike out at her was becoming less and less effective. He cursed bitterly, finally having to resort to fending off her close dives with his long dagger.

Again a plant foiled him, popping up underfoot as he stepped back to avoid having his eyes gouged out and tripping him. He landed on his back, and the dagger clattered out of his hand. The harpy landed on his shoulders, pinning him to the ground. She clawed at his chest, scratching her talons against the links of his chain mail and seeming to curse him in whatever tongue it was her screams were meant to be. He turned his head to the side, seeking to escape the reeking breath of the harpy as she brought her face inches from his. His eyes fell upon the bloody four-inch long piece of thorn that still jutted out of his palm. An idea came to him, a desperate bid to remove himself of this creature, and he clenched his hand painfully around the thorn - holding it in so that it would not slip free.

The back of his hand came up, slamming into the harpy’s neck. The creature screamed, leaping away from him and wrenching the thorn painfully out of his hand. She was off of him though, and he didn’t waste a second in reaching for his weapons. Three throwing daggers from the brace he usually kept up his left sleeve left his hand in rapid succession. His aim wasn’t perfect with his off hand, and he didn’t strike any vital organs, but the blades were poisoned so it didn’t really matter. With all three daggers in her, the bird hadn’t even cleared the treetops in her sudden desire to retreat before she spasmed and fell twitching to the ground.

Thanatos sighed, looking down at his beaten, naked body. It was almost exhilarating to be facing challenges once more, but it was becoming something of a drag do to it in his birthday suit. As he retrieved his knives from the harpy, who still struggled to breathe a little, his eyes focused on her hair. For monsters, the harpies’ hair was not of too terrible quality, and appeared relatively clean. He glanced around at the other bodies in the small area, seeing that there were several with heads and long hair intact.

Thanatos grinned, an idea coming to him, and as he sat down to rest himself he, in imitation of a master weaver, got to work with some of his weaker magics on a few of the black and red haired corpses.

[Jack]

(Thanatos)
Thanatos stood, grinning broadly and brushing himself off. For the first time in hours he was dressed, and though his coat and pants were not of the finest cut imaginable, his amateur tailoring skills had done a serviceable job. His undergarments and shirt were made from the harpies’ black hair, trimmed with red, and sanitized as best as his magics would allow. He had feathered and tanned several of the dark brown harpy skins to create for himself a coat and breeches that provided light but very flexible armor, and lined them with more black fabric and a bit of down for padding. His belt buckle now had new leather to attach itself too, and multiple layers of leather formed boots over his feet. The lack of embroidery on his clothes didn’t suit his usual tastes, and that and the various scrapes evident on his face made him look like a much rougher sort of fellow than he usually did, but he was sure it would make a better impression than running around in nothing but his chainmail.

His hand still hurt a great deal – he was never particularly skilled in the healing arts – but he had bandaged and treated it and his other wounds to the point where it and he would be serviceable for the combat he knew was coming. Typically he found Hell was no funhouse, except in dimensions with particularly twisted gods, but this seemed to conform to most of the usual rules. He set off again into the underbrush, a little more careful of where he placed his feet this time.

He heard the centaurs, the bubbling blood, and the screams of sinners long before the emerged from the edge of the forest. He slipped quietly past the horse-men, trying not to arouse attention as he slipped silently into the scalding blood. Around him the liquid hissed and seethed more fiercely than it already had, as if it sensed the nature of his life. He pushed the pain as far back in his mind as he could, but every cell in his body was screaming bloody murder at him. He closed his eyes - too greatly pained by the blood he would have been unable to see through anyway - and swum blindly, guided more by his sense of direction and hearing than anything else. He kept his head below the surface, avoiding the watchful eyes of the centaurs, and managed to reach the other side without any of their arrows in his flesh. He would have applauded his good fortune, was it not for the sight that greeted him.

His foot was barely out of the crimson river before the minotaur’s fist sent him hurtling back into the stream. Thanatos struggled to stand, the river only being knee deep where he had landed, and gazed at his opponent. The creature bellowed fiercely, barring his teeth and thrusting his head forward menacingly at his intended prey. One of his eyes was bloodied and useless - a sight that gave the ghostly man equal parts relief and puzzlement.

“Who did this?” Thanatos thought to himself as he flung himself upwards and away from the minotaur’s strike with his power. “No dead sinner could inflict such a wound. It must have been a living creature, one probably more powerful than me at this point, but who?” he drew his sword, and rolled back to the side to avoid one of the minotaur’s massive swinging arms. Thanatos grimaced as another dodge put him back into the river. “And more importantly, why?”
Thanatos hissed slightly as one of the blows came dangerously close. “At least the beast is having trouble with depth perception,” he thought. He shook his head, and spoke his thoughts aloud, “We’ll, there’s no point in wondering now - I’d be better off just finishing this job, whoever started it.”
He reached for the darkness again, and as always was pleased to find an ample amount of power in both Hell itself and the few murderous souls he had encased in his pocket watch whilst swimming in the blood. The blood behind Thanatos rose up, like tendrils reaching for the minotaur’s head. The beast tried dodging desperately, but Thanatos hit his good eye with a spray of scalding blood. As the beast screamed, pulling his head up and turning away from Thanatos and the river, the soul monger leapt at him, thrusting his sword swiftly in and out of what had been the good eye.

Thanatos leapt back before the beast could grab him, and once again two bits of the boiling water rose under his command. They stabbed at the minotaur like striking vipers, but the creature’s exceptional senses saved him from death. The bull man ducked, reaching upwards to grab what he must have thought was attached to his attacker. When his hands grasped nothing but scalding blood, he shrieked and leapt backwards - towards his assailant, and the raging river.

Thanatos acted quickly, grabbing the creature with tendrils of shadow and blood and lifting him into the air. The minotaur spun round and round in the air, loosing much of his sense of direction, and then Thanatos hurled him into the middle of the river. As the creature sunk, sputtering and screaming and unsure which way would get him to shore, Thanatos grinned, turned, and walked off towards the city of Dis.

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