Infernal Contract

by Thomas Green

  On the morning before the match between Lucifer and Ares, I sat in my office, studying the manual from Hades. The instructions on how to loosen Ares’s collar were the bare minimum needed to get the job done. Shame, for with a bit more, I could perhaps figure out how to remove these collars.

  With a sigh, I rose and walked to the treatment chamber. Inside were Ares and Jasika. She brought him water while he sat on a chair, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

  “Have no worry,” I said. “The procedure is short and painless.”

  “Pain’s not an issue,” Ares said.

  I stepped behind him, studying the steel collar holding his neck. Seamless with no buttons, the device was truly a product of art. The controls were hidden within, reacting to touch on the unmarked surface. “Is there any other issue then?”

  “I was an athlete once.” Ares’s tone softened. “I’ve fought in the octagon for most of my life. I might be hot-headed, but I still hold dear the rules under which I compete. Loosening the collar’s limiters is cheating, which I do not condone.”

  “Me neither.” Under Jasika’s piercing gaze, I started working on the collar, sliding my fingers over the smooth metal. I had to be careful since the collar also contained an explosive, which would go off if the collar was tampered with in the wrong way. “But here, we do not get to decide these things.”

  He exhaled. “I know.”

  Three minutes later, I finished the procedure. “Please, try it.”

  He stood up, towering above me, and jabbed a few times into the air. His hand nearly blurred through the air, much faster than the punch of a normal man. “This fight will be utterly one-sided.”

  Despite my sinking heart, I donned my professional smile. “Yes, it will.”

  Lucas 5

  THE SECOND ROUND of torturous hallucinations was not pleasant. I couldn’t count how many times I watched Evelyn die in my arms. A deep feeling of hollowness overtook my insides, one which didn’t want to leave.

  When Sora disconnected me from the extraction device, I crumbled on the ground. Everything hurt and my mind remained clouded. This time, Apollo didn’t enter the cell, so Sora and I were there alone.

  He started by kicking me in the ribs, his wet boot squelching.

  I spat out, shouting with pain.

  “Pathetic.” Sora sneered and kicked me again. “You wriggle worse than a worm.”

  By instinct, I reached for my aether. The power was there, and I could use a bit. Not much, but more than before, an aftereffect of the extraction. I focused my thoughts and fuelled my body with the energy, forming a combat pattern. That would help me recover.

  “Get up.” Sora kicked my midsection.

  Breath blew out of my lungs. I gasped for air, but also grabbed the wall to haul myself upright. Half-way in the process of rising, Sora swept my feet.

  I fell on my back, my entire world shaking.

  “Again.”

  My gaze went up his wet pants. “Soiled yourself?”

  He kicked me again, harder. “That’s nothing that’d concern you.”

  Four attempts later, I got up to my feet. The aether reinforcing my body helped repel Sora’s kicks and revitalized my muscles.

  Sora jabbed my back with the baton, and I stumbled out, where Apollo awaited. The hallway’s ceiling lights nearly blinded my eyes. I walked by instinct alone, my vision hazy.

  Sora’s squelching steps pursued me. “Do you know if there’s a plumber in the lower ward?” he asked Apollo.

  The Greek demigod shrugged. “I haven’t been there in a long time. Why?”

  “Eastern water conduit broke, again.” Sora sighed and he kicked me forward. “A bit more and it might flood the Female Ward.”

  “Well, let’s hope Hades has it fixed,” Apollo whispered. “Because that’d be a problem.”

  “Yeah.” Sora smacked my back with the baton, forcing me ahead.

  My muscles regained coordination, but my mind remained clouded. I walked mostly upright, and we soon entered the platform that would take me up. This time, Sora and Apollo walked next to me.

  Sora pushed a button, the door behind us closed, and the platform started rising. Apollo checked his visor and readied his baton. Sora did nothing, but his body tensed. I started stretching, slowly, so they wouldn’t interpret it as an attack.

  The ceiling above us opened and we stood in the first sports hall.

  Sora grabbed my shoulder and pushed me forward. “To the arena.”

  With a faint smile, I did.

  The tribunes were packed full. A cheer echoed through the hall as Sora led me to the preparation room. They kept me in extraction until moments before my match with Ares. How thoughtful of them.

  Loki and Wukong awaited me inside, their faces slackened and eyes full of worry.

  Sora pushed me into the room and kicked me behind the knee.

  I fell.

  “Change him,” Sora ordered.

  “There’s no way he can fight in this shape,” Wukong whispered.

  Sora readied his baton. “Do as I say.”

  I relaxed my muscles, hoping to regain a tiny bit of energy before the match.

  Wukong dragged over a patio chair for me and Loki brought the blue trunks. Gently, they removed my jumpsuit and then pulled off the cotton t-shirt I wore beneath.

  As they saw my body, Loki froze and Wukong’s face hardened. This was the first time they saw my scars. And I had many. Over the time I worked as a private investigator, I collected dozens of serious wounds, most of which left scars. Burns, electric shocks, slashes, stabs, bullet wounds, marks of all types of elemental spells, a direct collision with a truck, and a house falling on me, my torso kept the entire history of the abuse I forced it through.

  They removed my pants and slid the trunks up my legs. Each of them took one glove and put it on my hand. The fingerless gloves squeezed my hands. They must have been a size too small.

  “Move,” Sora snapped.

  I took a deep breath and tried to stand up. My knees wobbled. Wukong caught me. Loki opened the door leading toward the arena and Wukong half-carried me to it.

  “Think you can survive this?” Wukong whispered.

  “Perhaps.” I spread aether through my body. The collar already regained more of its restrictive ability, but by how that went the last time, I was bound to be able to use some of my power for the next twelve hours.

  I covered my eyes with my arm as we entered the arena. The lights were too blinding. Wukong let go of me and I stumbled onto the arena sands. My feet didn’t remember the sensation of walking on anything other than steel, making the sand feel uncomfortable, intrusive.

  A few side steps later, I leaned my back against the steel wall, hunting for any tiniest bit of rest I could get.

  “And here enters the challenger of tonight’s evening’s special and main event!” The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena. “With the standing record of zero wins, zero draws, and zero losses, please welcome, the most infamous prisoner of Tul Sar Naar, the original fallen angel, Lucifer!”

  The crowd booed. The announcer could have given the introduction a bit more effort. I glanced upward. The inhabitants of the Upper Prison filled the tribunes above. Seeing the familiar faces brought a smile to my face. Jasika clearly prospered in the Upper Prison, looking divine even from the distance. Amarendra sat next to Hades, wearing a sour smile.

  Though I didn’t like the light smirk on Hades’s face.

  “And now, the man who needs no introduction. Fighting out of the red corner, with thirty-three wins, zero draws and zero losses, the Greek God of War, the champion of Tul Sar Naar, Ares!”

  Ares entered the arena at the opposite side, his jaw clenched. His dark gaze measured me, analyzing who he faced.

  I detached from the wall and headed to the arena’s center for the customary greeting.

  Ares stepped in front of me, two inches taller, but not much bulkier. His eyes were glued on my chest.

  Upon a focu
sed thought, my aether filled my eyes. The world’s colors inverted, revealing aether like spilled paint of a mad artist. Ares’s body was full of the arcane energy, formed into a defensive pattern. He definitely had loosened collar restrictions. I stretched, giving him the full view of my scars. “Any last words?”

  He met my eyes. “Don’t bother trying to intimidate me.”

  “Most prefer having some chit-chat before death.”

  We returned to our sides of the arena. The announcer said we could start, but I paid no attention to his words. I breathed in and straightened.

  Ares raised his hands for the standard, Muai Thai guard, and crept toward me, his step light, his weight focused on his back foot. An evasive stance, which was a sound strategy, given he must have seen me kill guards by putting my hands on them alone.

  I clenched my muscles and stepped toward him my shoulders raised with my arms around my midsection. The combination of him seeing my scars and bearing witness to me killing guards must have rattled him.

  Sure, he was an excellent fighter, but Ares was primarily an athlete. To face a fellow athlete in a match was an entirely different task than standing in front of a fallen angel that intended to kill him. Now, this fear gave me an advantage, but if he landed a few strikes on me, he would get comfortable and banish his doubts. I was not going to allow that.

  I stepped into his striking distance. He jabbed with the left, so fast I could barely react. His fist hit my cheek. But he didn’t put much weight behind the punch. The strike still stung. I stepped in and reached after his other arm, the one that remained in his guard.

  His fighting experience kicked in at the subconscious level. He automatically evaluated my grab as not-really-an-attack and followed up with a right-hand punch, ignoring my hand.

  Simultaneously, he hit my temple and I grabbed his arm. My head jerked to the side and darkness blanked my vision. I reached with my aether into his arm, blended my power with his, and made it swirl.

  He instantly retracted his hand, grunting with pain. Thanks to his speed alone, he didn’t lose the arm. My move still gave him a short spasm in his biceps. But now, he couldn’t convince his unconsciousness that this was a sports competition.

  I gritted my teeth and bolted forward. Wide-eyed, Ares leapt back. I pursued him, wearing a smirk on my face. His back hit the arena wall. I pressed forward, reaching after him. Ares made half a step forward, launched a right hook and slid after the hand.

  His fist hit my other temple. My head jerked to the side, sweat exploding into the air. I grabbed his retracting arm, pulled myself to him, and pressed my other hand against his midsection.

  He bolted sideways, but not before I injected my aether into his and made it spin. His fast reaction stopped me from destroying his organs. But the spell tore his muscles. He shouted with pain and wobbled, dropping to one knee.

  I made a swift step and a grabbed his head, pushing my aether into his skull. He froze and unclenched his muscles, recognizing my killing move.

  With my vision clouded by a red haze, I straightened, and pushed my aether into Ares’s collar. Today, he moved much faster than before, so he likely had more aether allowance. I would wager they loosened his restrictions and I probed the collar with my power to find out why. The entire arena was silent with the audience on both levels staring in mute shock. They thought I would lose, didn’t they?

  To be fair, I would have lost horribly if this competition followed any rules. I found Hades with my gaze and shouted. “Should I kill him?” I glanced at Ares’s collar every so often to see how my aether interacted with the mechanism. I had to be careful not to trigger the explosive, which would kill Ares and blow up my hand. This was probably my only chance to figure out how to loosen the restrictions.

  The Overseer did not like the question. Hades’s frown deepened and, like during the times of ancient Rome, he stretched out his hand balled into a fist. His thumb struck out horizontally.

  Ares failed him. If Hades showed mercy, it would send a signal that the Overseer has softened, that failing him wouldn’t have serious consequences. I was counting on him following this exact trail of logic.

  He turned his hand, the thumb pointing downward.

  Okay, but I wasn’t done analyzing the collar. I smiled and turned to the lower tribunes. “And what about you? Should I kill him?”

  They understood the challenge and outstretched their hands, sticking out the thumbs. The vast majority pointed upward.

  Good. Since I was done with the analysis of Ares’s collar, I granted Hades a victorious smile and let go of Ares. He exhaled his eyes watery. Demigod or not, facing the imminent threat of one’s death always left an impression.

  The lower prison’s crowd erupted into cheers.

  With shaky steps, I stumbled toward the arena exit. Halfway through, my head spun, knees gave out and I collapsed on the ground. My consciousness slipped away.

  I awoke lying on a table in the mess hall. My head kept spinning, face swollen. Ares didn’t hit me as lightly as I thought he did. The air in the mess hall felt lighter. The muffled voices of chatting prisoners carried a tone more positive than ever. Excellent. One of the main psychological pressures of imprisonment was the inability to make decisions.

  A prisoner never got to decide anything. But today, I gave them a choice, one that literally made the difference between life and death. And they got to piss off the Overseer on top of that.

  I sat upright, nearly falling back as blood drained from my brain. Loki and Wukong sat by the table’s end, finishing their dinner. At the hall’s other side sat Ares, surrounded with his followers. He lost no fans today. Ares and I exchanged a knowing nod. In a fair MMA fight, he would have crushed me while in a mage duel, our positions were reversed. Today, we clarified that, and we could both live with this outcome.

  Rhonrohak sat at a different table, wearing an amused grin. Extraction may have been a torture, but that didn’t seem to bother him. A flicker of hope could be the most lethal of drugs.

  I sat down and Wukong pushed me my plate. “Welcome back to hell,” he said with a sarcastic smile.

  “Thanks.” I scooped the chicken risotto and filled my mouth. My stomach grumbled, ready for some real food. “Do we have a plumber in here?”

  He exchanged a glance with Loki. “Probably... why?”

  “Find one. Tomorrow, we will need him.”

  Lucas 6

  AS I PASSED THROUGH THE DETECTION HALLWAY, I glanced at the wooden boxes I placed there. They were indistinguishable from the wooden cubes that formed the hallway’s sculptures. I resisted the urge to verify them closer as I couldn’t afford that. There were too many prisoners passing around me and revealing even a single box could be crushing for my plan.

  I entered the mess hall and stepped into the line for breakfast. Once I sat down, glaring at the oatmeal on my plate, Loki sat opposite of me. Wukong soon joined us, bringing a man I didn’t know. The monkey king sat next to me and the new man next to Loki.

  The newcomer stood small, his frame slender, and blue eyes nervous, darting around.

  “I suppose you’re the plumber,” I said.

  “Was,” he uttered. “Before I became a mage.”

  “I’m Lucas.”

  He forced out a smile. “I’m Oliver.”

  “All right, Oliver.” I returned his smile, hoping to make the man relax. “How would you build the plumbing of this prison?”

  He scratched the back of his head. “There are literally infinite options.”

  “Suppose the core was built before the invention of electricity and that there exists something called the eastern water conduit, which can flood the Female Ward if broken.”

  He frowned slightly and the smile disappeared from his face. He rubbed his chin, staring into nowhere. “Without electricity, the only reasonable way to keep pressure in the pipes is to have a reservoir placed above the area where the water is used. To service a complex of this size, the reservoir has to be huge and self
-refilling from the outside… and that’s impossible.”

  “To exit our cells, we go through a massive tunnel that lifts us upward with magic,” I said. “Is there a reason why it couldn’t move water?”

  “You think that’s what it’s used for when we aren’t in the cells?” His voice trailed off. “Then this could work like a pumped-storage hydroelectric plant. There might be a bottom reservoir, where filters clean the water before the magical uplift returns the water into the upper one.”

  “And sometime in the last century, that process was likely adjusted so electricity would be generated to power the prison.” I finished the oatmeal and bit into an apple, enjoying the sour taste. The prison being electrically self-sufficient by having its own power plant would fit. I mean, when Lucielle installed cameras, she had to solve powering them as well so turning the water distribution system into a power plant would offer itself. “How can I get into the pipeline leading to the Female Ward?”

  “You can’t.” Oliver rubbed his chin with his palm, a sour smile playing on his lips. “If there are two main pipelines that are used for electricity generation, eastern and western one, then they would be connected at the top, at the bottom, and at two places along the way. The top and bottom ends would be heavily defended, and the intermittent ones would open only to balance the water’s flow.”

  “But if one pipeline is broken somewhere above the Upper Prison, then the upper connecting pipeline would be permanently open to balance the flow and to provide at least some water for the Female Ward.”

  “Yes…” his voice trailed off. “But the water pressure would be too high to survive.”

  “How high?”

  “If the pipes are steel, then over a thousand pounds per square inch.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.” On full power, my aether shielding could withstand up to three thousand pounds per square inch. Yes, my power was limited, but with a loosened collar, I could hopefully shield myself strongly enough.