NOVEL NEXT Chapter 154: Hell's Overlook
That afternoon, the sled began to skid along rougher terrain. Plumes of sulfuric smoke appeared up ahead. The thick tree cover that had been building over the past week gave way even quicker than it had appeared. They were approaching the volcanic fumaroles of the Fellmarsh, the most dangerous area of the Pilgrim's Path, adjacent to the boneyard-cathedral of the Demon Lord's Fall.
"This is no place for the dogs," Jelena said sadly.
The lead dog tilted its head at an odd angle. It looked back toward the squat trees at their back expectantly.
Jelena and Calaf unhooked the dogs from their sled getup. Only when the last was freed did the whole pack bolt off into the forest. They looked back at their temporary masters at the very edge of the deep woods, then with a quick yip and a bark, ran off like a well-organized pack of dire-wolves.
"Guess we have to leave the sled here, too," Calaf said.
Maybe some nomad would wander down to retrieve it one day. Maybe the dire-dogs would lead the settlement back to the sled? Regardless, the pair weren't going to be able to haul it through the treacherous ground of the Fellmarsh. It would remain here, at the border of the churchlands.
They carried what supplies they could, which was not much, given that both Calaf and Jelena now lacked the item-storing convenience of the Interface.
The Menu Brand was a slave mark of the Demon King! A shackle by which the ancient demonic regime limited humanity's potential down to level one. Only by cheating the system did the old heroes ever rise up the levels to match and defeat the Demon King. Then they'd set up a headquarters on the bones of the old regime, demons secretly in their ranks, and treated the slave Brands like a holy mark. Dozens of generations had lived and died, converting others and spreading their Brand to their descendants, having forgotten their demonic origins.
Jelena reached up to touch her eye-patch on instinct. She hadn't known the truth of the binding Brands when she destroyed her eye by Scouring. Not for the first time, she had the distinct impression that she'd bet on the right dire-horse with that one. Then Calaf's remnant, left stub rubbed against her shoulder, and she was reminded that he'd lost his Menu access far less willingly.
The Interface was useful. Perhaps that was part of its trap. Assumign Calaf hadn't taken his own arm off to avoid being compelled by Archpope Bede's System-control to strangle Jelena, even knowing the truth behind the Brand, they'd have probably continued to utilize the not-so-holy Menu.
It was another three-day journey from the northern limit of the Fellmarsh down to the Pilgrim's Path. Fearing for their limited supply of Camp items from Calaf's vestigial Inventory, they spent the second and third nights sleeping under the stars with bonfires made of squat Fellmarsh brush to keep the dark at bay.
"I keep dwelling on how close I came to death," Calaf said late on the third night.
Jelena stirred. "Mmm. You… survived."
She yawned, still not entirely cognizant.
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"Without the Brand… that thing." Calaf shuddered, his back flush to Jelena's.
Even in her half-asleep state, Jelena knew exactly what her lover was referring to. The entity they'd encountered more than once, now. That which repurposed the dead into a wave of rot and decay. Rot itself, united as a single mind, focused only on spreading.
"It's not going to get you," Jelena promised. "I'll… make sure of it. If it came to it, you'd do the same to me."
Calaf let out a sigh. Behind her, Jelena heard him rub at the remnants of his left arm. He only did this when he was deep in concentration.
"The Brand. I think I know why the Demon King was shackling every living thing…"
But Jelena was coaxed to sleep again as he was sharing his theory.
The pair made for the nearest high volcanic mound to get their bearings. Hashing out this path took the majority of a long morning.
A thick curtain of smog covered the landscape to the south. There, though, they could see the thin streak of a trampled-over roadway through the swampy, volcanic environs.
"The main road of the Pilgrim's Path," Jelena announced.
Sound carried well in the wide, rocky wasteland of the Fellmarsh. A great din off to the south and west was easily heard. Tall towers, moving nigh imperceptibly, could be seen along the far edge of the gloom-laden horizon.
"That's…" Jelena began.
"… the inaugural pilgrimage procession." Calaf nodded. "They haven't used the full convoy in, well, I can't even remember how long."
Jelena vaguely recalled word of a procession coming through Firefield to herald the ascension of the previous archpope. It had been more of a standard convoy of wagons and dire-horses at the time. Even in that diminished state, she wouldn't dare attempt a robbery upon the convoy. Not with only two people.
The pair looked southwest as this mobile city of a convoy made its way down the Pilgrim's Path at a glacial pace. The main road had always appeared overengineered, and this old fundamentalist pilgrimage tradition revealed why the church had spent so much effort building these massive, paved avenues.
It was there, while mulling over how to proceed, that Jelena noticed something moving down in a valley below their lookout post.
"Eyes up." Jelena nodded towards the altercation.
Six-legged, wide-jawed creatures milled about far below. They patrolled in droll, regular patterns, back and forth. When any two subjects got close to each other, they opened their mouths impossibly wide and let out a deep and guttural roar.
"Demons," Calaf said with a low tenor.
"If my demonology lessons are still accurate they should be called 'Gulper Demons,'" Jelena said.
Once more, Jelena noted that if Calaf still had access to the Menu they'd know this information at just a glance. Another advantage of the old repurposed slave Brand.
Each mighty demon's maw could swallow a grown man thrice over. Calaf was armed with an Arctic nomad's spear. Useful for spearing a dire-walrus, decidedly less so for heavy combat with what would be a level-80 or above monster.
These demons ought to be feral beasts following the death of their master, the Demon King. Its massive corpse sat bleached in the sun, far to the east. Now they were patrolling, seemingly with purpose.
"It's the arbiters," Jelena guessed. "That Perarde fellow, or whatever his true name is. He can probably command these things!"
For four centuries, the high-level demons of the Fellmarsh were thought to be leaderless remnants of the Demon King's host. In truth, the highest ranks of the church militant had been infiltrated by demons all along! Their feral cousins were more like guard dire-dogs, meant to patrol the area around the Grand Cathedral.
Jelena looked to the east. A towering skull with hollow eyes peered from out of the gloom.
"C'mon." She took a step forward, angling around the pit of demons.
"Where are you going?" Calaf asked pointedly. "Bede is this way."
"Ah, but you see," Jelena began. "They've probably left a skeleton crew at the Demon Lord's Fall. It'll be easier to sneak in again. We'll finish where we left off."
Calaf followed, though Jelena could sense his reluctance.
"Besides." Jelena shrugged in the direction of the massive convoy. "At the rate they're moving we'll catch up before they hit Autumn's Redoubt."
Truthfully, Jelena also hoped they'd be able to raid the Grand Cathedral's dungeons. They had a rescue mission to perform—and a promise to keep.