"I still don't get it, where were all the demons at?" Mordred said as she pointed her gun at the slowly smouldering demon corpses. "It makes no sense that there are this many here, and none there at all. I'm starting to wonder if this is normal for France."
I shared Mordred's puzzlement at the strange state of affairs. Even if Blackheart was behind it… It still didn't sit right with me. Because demons didn't stop coming out even as we entered the portal, so why was there not a single one on the other side?
Even for a trap, it didn't feel right at all.
It should have been impossible to number the exact number of demons needed to draw us in, so… how?
"I'm fairly sure this isn't what France is supposed to be, as what happened there? I guess we can just write it off as logic not applying in Hell." That was my best explanation. Maybe The Ancient One would know more, but I wasn't about to go bother her over something this minor.
I suspected that she suddenly found herself very, very busy.
"Come, Mordred, Lancelot is likely looking for us." I said as I started to track back out of the catacombs.
Mordred clicked her tongue, "I was hoping you would forget about him and it could be just the two of us." She kicked a demon corpse through the room to show her displeasure towards Lancelot.
"I'm afraid neither French air nor the air of hell will make me confused enough to forget about any of my knights."
"Still, one can hope. Also! You totally used Excalibur in there! That's cheating! We are supposed to use guns, you know!" she complained.
"You forget, Mordred, that I made that rule." I paused. "So I get to change the rules to fit my desires."
"That's cheating!"
"It's called being in charge, and is the only privilege that makes the burden of being a king even remotely worth it."
"I want that privilege as well! I'm your heir after all!"
"For kings only."
"Then let me be king already!"
"Sure."
Mordred froze. "Wait? Really?"
"Yeah, you can be king of France, they don't have a king anymore." I said with a smile on my lips.
"France!? EWW! No way, I don't want France, it smells! And it's strange! France sucks!" She shouted angrily.
"Sounds like you will have to follow the rules rather than make them." I said as we made our way into the small tunnels and tried not to get lost.
-----
The Ancient One stood still, her robes unmoving despite the storm of heat and hate that churned through the crimson air around her.
There wasn't another living human who had spent more time within the different Hell dimensions than her.
She didn't enjoy spending her time here, but over time, it did get easier. Mostly because she lost her hair… and the air inside the place always messed with her hair back when she still had it.
Though it also didn't hurt that she wasn't spending as much time in here as she had done in the early days.
Nowadays, the Lords of Hell knew better than to mess with her.
If there were one particular Hell Lord who still regularly drew her attention, it was Mephisto. One of the most powerful ones, and no doubt the most greedy lord of hell. He had a truly endless thirst for human souls and did all kinds of things to claim as many as he could.
She had to admit, he was also pretty good at it, coming up with interesting new ways all the time.
Right now, Mephisto prowled not far from where she was standing, burning eyes locked on her as he grinned, acting like he had already won.
"You're slipping, Sorcerer Supreme," he drawled. "A tear that size in the veil, and you didn't even twitch? Tsk. You used to be so... reactive."
She didn't respond. Not yet.
"I wonder," he went on, circling lazily, "has the burden finally begun to wear you thin? Or are you just pretending not to notice that while you play sentinel here—my armies are bathing in French souls?"
His voice was a melody of malice. She knew the game. Let him talk. It was all he would do. He was far too scared to act against her that easily. Even here in his own dimension, she held no fear of him.
She had beaten him enough times, even under better circumstances than this. So she just had to stand there, and he could gloat, but he would be suitably distracted.
She had already seen this. Not all of it. Not clearly. But enough. Enough to know that letting him believe he was winning was the only way to keep him here.
If he had gone to France… if he had gone instead of what she'd seen—then everything would have gone wrong.
"Still silent?" Mephisto cooed. "How very unlike you."
His grin widened, showing off a mouth with far too many teeth. "Maybe you are expecting someone? Hoping someone else will close the rift? But I'm afraid I will have to disappoint you, even if the worthless fool on the other side is dealt with, on my side, Blackheart is guarding the portal, any reinforcement you are hoping for will fail."
"Blackheart," the Ancient One repeated quietly, like a teacher mouthing the name of a student who just cheated on a test.
"Oh yes," Mephisto said, prowling closer. "He's ambitious, petulant… but effective. And loyal, for now. He knows what's at stake. He'll make a fine steward of Earth's suffering."
She let her silence speak again. She had long since learned that words were precious—best spent only when the moment mattered.
Something Mephisto clearly didn't agree with, as he kept on speaking without pause. "But worry not, I won't take all of Earth from you, just a billion souls or two, no big deal." He gloated, acting like he had already won.
She couldn't wait to see his reaction when he realized this was all just a trap, and she wasn't even the one setting it; he was. It took all her discipline to resist smiling at the irony. She really looked forward to seeing just how badly things would turn out.
Mephisto paused mid-rant.
His grin didn't vanish—but it thinned. His head turned slowly, as if catching a scent on the wind.
"...What is that?" he murmured.
The Ancient One said nothing.
But she felt it too.
A divine presence had entered this realm.
While she knew Arthuria hid it well back on Earth, within Hell, before the senses of Mephisto, there was no hiding the power and brilliance of such a soul, a divine being, more soul than flesh. It was irresistible to someone like him.
If he could add such a soul to his power, he could very well gain the upper hand against the other Hell Lords, maybe even lead a proper attack on Earth. And just now, such a soul, one he knew nothing about entered his realm.
And for all his talk about Blackheart being loyal, he knew well that he would betray him the moment he thought he could get away with it. He would never let such a soul slip through his fingers, which meant he wanted to go and claim it for himself.
"Is this what you are waiting for? Some special divine soul?" Mephisto growled, voice suddenly sharper.
"Outside of this realm, I might have had to worry, but here? Within Hell? You should know that all holy powers are restricted here; you truly have disappointed me." He said, with slight suspicion in his voice.
He wasn't a fool; he felt like this might be a trap, but still. That feeling, that presence, was too tempting.
Mephisto's gaze snapped toward the burning horizon. His fingers twitched.
"She's inside," he murmured, more to himself now. "A god walking in my domain… And Blackheart was the one to greet her? No. No, that will not do."
He turned, cloak of living flame coiling behind him as he stepped forward.
The Ancient One raised a single hand.
A ripple of golden light surged out, forming a barrier of interwoven spells. Spells she had carefully woven while he was busy gloating.
Mephisto's advance halted an inch before the ward. He hissed.
"Do not test me, woman."
"You're already being tested," she replied calmly. "But I'm not the one doing the testing, I'm just here to look at the results."
With a roar, Mephisto lashed out, hellfire erupting from his hand in a torrent of screaming souls. The Ancient One didn't move—she didn't need to. The blast struck her spell and dispersed; she was no amateur.
"You're slipping, Lord of Hell." She said, throwing his earlier words right back at him.
He snarled, and suddenly he was everywhere—appearing in smoke behind her, striking from above, breaking reality itself in flashes of raw infernal spite. And still, she did not move her feet. Her hands traced the air, countering each blow with elegance, all while smiling gently.
It was a funny sight to see Mephisto, a towering giant, attack a tiny woman and fail to achieve anything.
The Ancient One was happy to just waste his time; that was all she wanted to do, all she needed to do. Because she knew well that Blackheart would lose badly, and that would be a great win for Earth.
Because Blackheart was created with the singular purpose of being able to act on Earth when Mephisto himself couldn't.
And then—they both felt it.
A pulse of golden truth slammed through the entire dimension.
Even Mephisto's flames dimmed.
"What is that?" he gasped, wheeling around.
The Ancient One finally smiled, just slightly.
She had known Arthuria wouldn't disappoint, but still, it was amazing to see just how much effect she could have, just by summoning her weapon.
"What happens when someone angers a Goddess, I would assume." She said, calmly, buying more time for Arthuria to finish up.
And then it came.
"Ex—calibur!"
The word rang like judgment, echoing through the marrow of Hell itself. It didn't sound like a name—it sounded like a verdict.
A second pulse followed the first. Not power. Not magic. Sanctity. Something Hell was never meant to feel.
The sky split open.
A wave of golden light surged through the air, not merely burning—undoing. Erasing the very concept of evil from anything it touched. Screaming winds carried the sound of devils dying in silence, their names unmade before they could beg for mercy.
Even The Ancient One was amazed at what happened, never mind Mephisto, who couldn't believe what was happening at all.
"What is this!" He screamed as he unleashed his full power, desperately tearing through her spells, without caring about her at all.
She could easily have used the moment to attack, but honestly, she was too shocked to act.
Once free of her trap, he tore his way through space, teleporting across Hell, and The Ancient One followed right behind, eager to see what had happened.
The tear through space snapped shut behind them like a wound sealing with fire. Mephisto was the first to land—if the act of rending reality in rage could be called landing.
He stood at the edge of the ruined hellscape, crimson cloak flickering violently, the usual molten arrogance drained from his face. There were no words, not yet. Just stunned, hateful silence.
The land was… wrong.
A stretch of Hell had been transformed. No, not just changed—purged.
The stone no longer bled. The rivers of molten torment had hardened into pale glass, smooth and glittering with crystalline purity. Where once sulfur and ash had choked the air, a golden wind whispered, clean and silent. The screams were gone. The presence of evil was gone.
It had been cut out of Hell like a surgeon removing a cancer.
Mephisto took a single step forward, claws trembling at his sides. "No…"
It wasn't rage in his voice. Not yet. That would come. This was fear. The pure kind. The kind that Hell itself forgot it could feel.
The Ancient One drifted down beside him, silent. Her eyes scanned the area—no sign of Arthuria or Mordred, just traces. Holy light clinging to the air like dew on morning grass, sacred geometry scorched into the bones of the world.
A scar, permanent and gleaming. A wound Hell could not heal.
The faint echo of Arthuria's voice still lingered in the air like the tail of thunder after a storm.
"Ex—calibur!"
He could hear it still. He would never stop hearing it.
"Maybe now you will know that Earth has its way of dealing with you and Hell… but as long as you behave, I doubt she will bother with us." The Ancient One hid just how shocked she was. Even she couldn't do something like this. To purify hell itself, to bring pure goodness in here… beyond amazing.
He spun on her. "You brought her here."
"No," she said, too calmly. "You opened the way. I just happened to want to see what she would do."
"This… this cannot remain." He waved a hand, trying to pull the land back into shape, to will it back into Hell. Nothing happened. The land didn't scream. The air didn't hiss. It simply… refused.
The light had taken root.
Mephisto stared at her. "You win this time."
(End of chapter)