Brand-Bound: Hallowed Be The Menu [Rivals-to-Lovers Slowburn Fantasy Romance]

Wooden boardwalks cut through the swampier sections of the Fellmarsh. Oftentimes the path was little more than planks of gnarled wood sinking into the dirt.

Campsites were few and far between as well. Few areas were both safe from endgame dire-beasts and isolated from arid volcanic vents. Stopping for too long in the wrong place risked producing a bevy of toxic status effects. Sleep could prove deadly.

Dire-wyverns made their nests in boiling hot volcanic pools. Dire-rams leaped up and around uplifted basalt pillars. Even the dire-goats averaged level 85, far too strong to risk facing without a dedicated party.

Worse things than dire-beasts stalked the wastes. A ruined campsite from the previous year's pilgrimage season was evident only by three auto-rolled up tents and a bare spot for the fire. As the party approached, a wide, flat creature shook off dirt and lunged.

A gaping mouth lined with teeth opened wide, more than large enough to consume an entire convoy on the path with room to spare. Four undersized limbs flailed about, atrophied in favor of a greater maw and digestive track.

The fiend had only one 'weapon' with only one attack: Eat. And this proved to be all it needed. The creature's mouth opened ten to twenty times the size of its slender body. Dirt was shoveled aside while teeth-lined mandibles stretched up and around the path.

Calaf's shield would do nothing to block the massive maw. Enkidu took the initiative to slice large gashes into the creature's mouth as it advanced.

"Thrust your spear into the demon's stomach," Enkidu said.

Four tongues all tried to slurp them deeper into the beast.

Jelena fired off a shot, barely chipping a tooth. Calaf did as ordered, aiming for an opening in the back of the throat. There was a guttural screech, and the Gulper Demon reeled back, its hind limbs flailing.

The fiend closed its mouth, with Calaf just barely managing to retract his spear. The open maw deflated as it closed, revealing two tiny eyes atop a thin, beanstalk-shaped body. All damage thus far scarcely took more than three hundred HP off the devil.

With a flying leap, Enkidu promptly thrust his sword into what would count as the creature's brain. He kept stabbing and slicing even as the fiend fell. The Gulper Demon coughed up yellow bile as it died.

"Demons don't drop much," Zilara said as they examined the kill.

Experience flowed, granting the holy child another level and inching Calaf ever closer to level 66. As for items, though, they received only four singular Demonbone Joints.

"Those aren't half bad for crafting," Calaf said. "Used for the heaviest armor. There's a whole ecosystem of demonbone ribs and plates. Joints are used to craft the moving bits, naturally."

Demonbone was prohibitively heavy. They traded around and dumped sulfurous utility items to make room, but could only take Demonbone Joints (x2).

They left the demon corpse by the side of the road. No further travelers would be consumed by this trapdoor demon.

"I'd heard rumors demons still tread in the fumaroles," Jelena said offhand.

This was one of a dozen official trails through the Fellmarsh. There were many more unofficial paths too dangerous even for the party to dare tread. The widest road through the Fellmarsh shot off due east from the Olde Capital and was wide enough for a full church procession of wagons and palanquins to march down. There'd be no demons on that road, but there would also be a considerable presence by arbiters and auxiliaries.

It was not far down the path, by a clump of sulfur smokestacks, the group encountered another pair of demons.

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These fiends wielded large mithril-forged rebar clubs, crafted over four hundred years ago. Physically, they appeared like those gaoler demons as described in the ancient gospels: rotund, all muscle, atrophied bat wings on their shoulders.

"Target the third rib down on the right." Enkidu brandished his sword.

"What?" Zilara asked.

"It's a failsafe weak point," Enkidu explained. "Calaf and I will be able to penetrate the hides. A particularly honed ice spell would do the trick. If you can't pierce through, target those holes in the sides of their heads with lightning—not fireballs, they're resistant. Damaging the ear canals will proc discombobulation."

Another fierce battle rife with thrashing mithril rebar and discombobulation status effects ensured. Calaf thrust his main spear into the nearest demon for paltry damage; he'd missed the rib, embedding deep into the muscular flesh of the fiend.

Now stuck in the demon, Calaf brandished his banner-spear from off his back, the sigil of Fort Duran resplendent on its banner, and thrust it into the second Jailer Demon. This spear found its mark, and the jailer's health plummeted. Enkidu followed up with a slice to the first demon off Calaf's left shoulder. It severed the third rib down, sending the beast toppling. And so, a difficult battle was resolved early via judicious assault upon enemy weakpoints.

"Yes!" Zilara squealed, having leveled up once more. "I'll be level 60 before long. Pity the teleport point didn't work out."

"You'll start leveling slower, eventually," Calaf said, looting the demons.

With each level up, the delta between these high-level creatures and Zilara would be reduced. Each subsequent level required exponentially more experience. In time, she would earn enough to require significantly more high-level enemies to match the same pace.

Demonbone Chitin (x5) was pilfered off the bloodless corpses. They could only take three of five, however, and so left two of the hefty bone chunks on the ground.

Every demon thus far was Branded. This meshed with what the party had learned regarding the nature and origin of the Brand. Still, questions lingered in Calaf's mind.

"Don't have a gun big enough for these things," Jelena said. Her flintlock couldn't do more than chip demon chitin. "Never would have thought we'd fight a demon, let alone three. Thought these things were extinct."

Jelena and Zilara remained oblivious to the party's previous run-in with the Piper Demon. As far as they knew, this was the first time they'd encountered a demon in the flesh.

The party continued down the route, which continued to deteriorate into a slapdash collection of boards without even spacing or leveling. Calaf slowed down to walk parallel with Enkidu.

"If these demons are Branded, why wasn't the Collector Demon? The Brand passes via lineage. If it was descended from the Demon King's army—"

"Demons do not traditionally breed amongst themselves," Enkidu said abruptly. "The demon from the desert would have molted. You saw that phase of the life cycle. But it would have continued to molt continuously over centuries. This would dilute, then erase the lord's shackle until it was eventually wiped clean. As if it was never Branded in the first place."

Enkidu was always broody. Now he grew uncharacteristically quiet.

"As for the demons here, they were closer to the Demon King. Part of its main army or guards, not disparate slave catchers. They've been on standby for the past four hundred years. Plus, their purpose has changed little in the intervening years."

"Do they have to be unbranded to… transform?" Calaf asked after a time.

Visions of Piper, the Collector Demon's lanky 'human' form, continued to haunt the Paladin even now.

"Human glamour is the purview of exceptionally strong or exceptionally distant demons. The Collector Demon was the latter." Enkidu's throat was scratchy and dry.

Even four hundred years past their defeat, the demonic hordes certainly would deter uninvited guests from trying to reach the Demon Lord's Fall.

Few dire-beasts and the occasional demon plodded about off the path. Still, this was a semi-regularly frequented pilgrimage route, evidenced by past battles (mostly successful) and general wear and tear.

At dusk, following a long day's travel, the party spied the twin steeples of a wayshrine along the path. It was a walled church and adjacent lodging, a safe haven for travelers free from the perils of the marsh. Temperatures plummeted at night, much like the rest of the high plateau. Certainly, warm fire and proper meals proved appealing.

Thick double doors beckoned. Calaf knocked on the gates but received no response.

"Maybe nobody's home?" Jelena suggested.

Where else would the inhabitants possibly go? The Fellmarsh had no settlements. Few people wanted to live in a place with high-level dire-beasts and demons. Why live on the relatively hospitable parts of the plateau near the Olde Capital when you could instead live amidst level 10 dire-boars down in Riverglen, or the fertile rolling hills near the river delta?

With night approaching and the wayshrine gates yet to open, they enlisted Enkidu's help in hopping over the wall to unlock the gate the old-fashioned way. The gate swung open.

"This shrine appears abandoned," Enkidu said dryly. "It appears to be a recent development."

"Alright. Eyes up." Jelena pulled out her flintlock. "There're demons about."

Zilara made a hand symbol that meant 'stay frosty'. They did so, exploring the abandoned wayshrine.

Silence reigned. The lodge's door had been left ajar to waft on the wind, so they checked that first. Meals sat on tables in the main hall. They'd been about to eat their morning meal.

"This was very recent," Jelena said.

"Demons seem like they'd make more of a mess." Zilara looked around. "Beds are all made, and there's no blood."

Calaf shrugged. "Not necessarily…"

"She's right." Enkidu nodded at Zilara. "Collector Demon thralls wouldn't have bothered to lock the front gate."

The two men left for the main shrine as Zilara innocently wondered what a Collector Demon was.

The doors here, too, were barred shut. Calaf put his Menu-enhanced Strength stats to good use to bust the doors in with a shield bash.

A modest chapel was prepped and ready for morning prayers that never came to pass. Stained glass caught the sunset and produced a warm and inviting hue despite the acrid environment. It was an otherwise unassuming holy space, save for the great pit in front of the pulpit.

The pit was ramrod straight, descending down a quarter-league, easy. It predated the chapel by some years. By Calaf's best guess, it was a volcanic vent or sinkhole, covered up but recently rediscovered. Unnerving boot-scuffs lined the edge of the pit.

"I'm thinking everyone in this compound dived down this pit," Jelena said when they reconvened.

"Willingly or otherwise." Calaf nodded.

With no signs of a struggle, the former appeared more likely.

"Volcanic gas. Could've seeped up and boggled everyone's mind," Jelena said. "Too much of this foul air can cause all sorts of strange status effects."

On a hunch, Calaf pulled a plain piece of dry wood from Inventory. Rather than waste a torch, he made one himself by casting Flaming Sword of Faith on his spear, then spreading it to this block of wood. He cast the mini bonfire down the pit.

An echo of wood on stone wafted up as the incendiary hit the wall on its way down. It kept falling, far out of clear view. It landed, and a tide of writhing mass of indiscernible shape and type scattered with a screeching sound. Then, as the fire waned, the flesh-colored wave filled the gap left by the dying light. Another foul, fungal stench wafted into the chapel even stronger than before.

A morass of decay was churning under their feet. Venturing due east at a glacial but steady pace.

"Okay, drawing a line." Zilara had her arms crossed, indignant. "I ain't staying the night here."

Outside, the last rays of sunlight dimmed, no longer caught by the glass mural.

"Agreed." Jelena pocketed her flintlock. "At least nothing will be climbing up those sheer walls. I hope."

The party left the wayshrine into the Fellmarsh night. Calaf made sure to carry a torch with him. The words of the voice in the cookfire left him ever-wary. They left a note on the way-shrine gates warning any other travelers about the site.

Better to brave a landscape of feral demons than spend the night reliving whatever fate befell the monks and pilgrims at that chapel.