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Gortash casually flips through the papers on his desk and doesn't look up at the sound of the footsteps coming through the door. It's a studied complacency that has taken him time to perfect, an attitude of casual disdain for the potential danger inherent in an unexpected visitor. It offers the unspoken message - this dangerous life is little danger to me, and whoever you are, you are no danger at all. And yet he is on guard, of course, ready to snap his hand to his sword at a moment's notice.
“What is it?” he asks impatiently.
“Nice new digs, boss.” The footsteps halt a little in front of his desk.
He relaxes, though he still doesn't look up. “Afternoon, Karlach.”
“We're really moving up in the world. Just got through checking out the new warehouse by the docks.”
“Any problems?”
“Nah.” She laughs. “You run a tight ship. Down by the ships.” She snickers at her own joke. “Me ‘n Fytz ‘n Spence are going out to get some grub. Wondered if you wanna come with.”
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. His young tiefling bodyguard never fails to show up with that cheeriness that sets his teeth on edge. It would count as a crippling level of naivety for their line of work if she weren't also so astonishingly good at beating the shit out of anyone who crosses him.
So she does have her uses, some of which were instrumental in bringing him to the top of the underworld food chain here. And in spite of that exhausting level of plebeian charm, he will be sorry to lose her when the deal with Zariel goes through.
Speaking of which… the final test needs arranging.
“No,” he says briskly, slamming the ledger shut and looking up to meet her eyes. “But I need you for a job tonight.”
“Aces!” she says, bouncing up at once on the balls of her feet. “Which is it - dragging-things-around muscle or beating-things-up muscle?”
“The latter.” He smiles coolly. “I understand there is a hit out on my life from the Guildhall, and I think you'd agree we can't let that stand.”
“Oh, fuck that.” She crosses her arms. “Point me at ‘em and I'll see they're shuffled off.”
“On the contrary, you and I will go together for this one. I think it's time we make a bit of a demonstration of what happens when they cross us, don't you?”
Her grin widens and her eyebrows lift with visible excitement. He can guess at her thought process - they used to work very closely together, handling entire cargos from drop point to drop point. As his prestige has increased, and the size of his operation along with it, he has spent more time orchestrating things and less time getting his hands dirty. This, she thinks, is a return to form with a respected friend at her side.
The more fool you, I'm afraid, young Karlach.
“Meet me at the entrance to the sewers near Basilisk Gate. Tonight, eight o’clock. I understand the assassin has a safehouse there, and I’ve arranged for them to be informed I will be passing through the area this evening, apparently unaccompanied. And we will see to it that they get more than they bargained for.”
“Damn right,” she agrees. “I’ll be there, boss.”
He watches her walk back out and smiles slowly to himself. “Yes, you will,” he mutters. “And then we’ll see if you’re what she needs.”
The sewer stink is all too familiar; he used to stalk these long filthy corridors daily. His territory is far greater now, and will be greater still, but he owes a certain bitter debt to the halls of sludge and shit that were his first domain, his first taste of sovereignty and control after so many years under Raphael’s boot.
A bitter irony, of course, that he is now working diligently to send someone back to the Hells he worked so hard to escape. Were he a weaker man, perhaps it would trouble him. But he has learned the perfection that is the doctrine of Bane the Tyrant-- all things must pale before his ascendancy. The whip will always find its way into the hands of those that crave it; better to be the one wielding it than take the lash across his back again.
Seven-thirty. Karlach will be here soon. Final arrangements to make…
He comes to a halt in the middle of the long straightaway segment of piping that was selected for the business the previous day. “Is all prepared, Amorex?” he asks coolly.
The bearded devil is sitting in the shadows, gleaming eyes barely visible. “All set. Place’ll burn like Avernus itself,” the creature mutters hoarsely. “I really gotta let her top me to make this work, Gortash? End’s all the same for her if I manage to scarper off.”
“It must look real,” Gortash says with a calm shrug. “Karlach is thick as a plank of wood, of course, but nevertheless I won’t risk her cottoning to the situation before the deal is ready to be closed. So you will sacrifice yourself nobly for Zariel’s purposes and be suitably rewarded back in Baator, I am assured.”
Amorex grunts irritably. “Bloody terrible,” he growls. “Zariel doesn’t make it worth my while and I’ll be back to collect it out of your hide.”
“No doubt,” Gortash says dryly. “But that is a matter for another day. For now, concern yourself with your disguise and your dramatics.”
The devil gives an exaggerated sigh, then mumbles under his breath. His features shift at once, the tendriled beard and deep purple skin receding into the image of a sallow half-elf with deep black eyes. “Good enough? Came up with a whole backstory, too, but doubt you give a shit.”
“Not in the slightest. My interest is purely in the pyrotechnics.” Gortash gestures dismissively. “I’ll go up to meet her now. Don’t disappoint me.”
The sun is dipping low against the Lower City skyline as he emerges back into the open air. Before long he spots Karlach making her way down the street towards him at a trot.
“Hey, boss,” she calls cheerfully when she’s within shouting distance. “Nice night for it, eh?”
He waits for her to close to within six feet of him before answering at a normal volume. “Lovely, yes. Ready for battle?”
“Fuck yes. Got a new toy,” she says brightly, reaching behind her to pull free a heavy axe she has strapped to her back. A Fist weapon, Gortash realizes at a glance.
“Where did you get that?” he snaps. “If you’ve brought the Fist down on us--”
“Relax. Fucked a guard the other night, back of the Elfsong, and he ran off without it.” She grins. “So finders keepers. Should do well for the job, yeah?”
He lifts an eyebrow and shrugs noncommittally. It really is a pity she’s the best candidate for Zariel’s deal; he can’t say he’ll miss her, necessarily, but so little throws her that she has an infinite variety of uses. But he has greater plans at work, far beyond the menial shit she’s good for.
“After you,” he says, and points at the open manhole.
They descend into the dimness, the stench, and Karlach immediately takes her standard position in front of him, the axe held up in both hands. Her head is cocked, listening for any sign of an unexpected presence - and right on cue they begin to hear Amorex whistling (badly).
“That’ll be our mark, then?” she mutters to Gortash, who nods. A slightly feral smile curls her lips. “Right. Here we go.”
With a sudden burst of energy, she darts forward around the corner. “Thought you’d have the drop on us, eh, you little bastard?” she snaps out.
Gortash follows her into the straightaway just in time to see Amorex leap from the shadows.
“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!” the disguised devil screams, waving his arms in all directions. “WE’LL BOTH BURN FIRST!”
Karlach lashes out with the axe without hesitation. Amorex yelps dramatically and stumbles backwards away from her. As he does so, he flails outward with one arm, making sure she can see the detonator in his hands.
“Shit! Look out, boss! The place is mined!” Karlach shouts. Without hesitation, she turns and grabs Gortash by the collar, hurling him backwards and out of danger; he hits the wall hard enough to knock all the breath from his lungs. And then the entire line of piping erupts.
Amorex is certainly worth his pay; it’s a VERY dramatic explosion, infernal fire in every shade of blue and gold. The blast of sulfurous fury expands in a rapid bloom that consumes everything it touches, accompanied by a thunderous boom that rattles Gortash’s teeth. He sees Karlach disappear into the clutches of the conflagration and hears her scream of agony, and his lips curl in a slow smile.
Let the test begin.
It is, of course, not normal fire, even as far as the infernal sort goes. Zariel provided these explosives especially for this test. Miserable as the experience will be, Karlach will live; the flames are designed to provide pain but not kill.
The question, he remembers the archdevil telling him, her voice otherworldly, high and cold, is her pain tolerance. To have an infernal engine within a mortal body is to be aflame constantly, with all the agony that entails. For her to be of use to me, she must be able to function through and in spite of the sensation of being burned alive at all times. If you want this deal, Gortash, you must prove to me that your candidate can work under such conditions. And if she cannot, you will find me someone who can before I will give you what you want.
He straightens his shirt cuffs absently, watching as the fire rages through the room, feeding ever higher on the oil with which the floor has been liberally spread. Karlach is still screaming, her voice growing hoarse and ragged with panic and pain. The flames line her body, searing through her clothes, damage without destruction, torture without death. “Boss!” she howls on her knees among the debris from the explosion, forcing her eyes open to peer at him through the fire around her.
“Don’t just sit there,” he snaps back at her, unmoved by the pitiable scene in front of him. “Finish the job!”
He can see the faintest flash of bewilderment mix with the pain in her eyes-- but, as he knew it would, her loyalty trumps everything else. She struggles to her feet, a flaming pillar with her axe clutched in both hands. She turns, takes one step, then another, fighting through the blinding pain, setting aside everything but the target Gortash has set for her. And Amorex is still there, standing at the edge of the explosion radius, waiting for her.
“THERE YOU ARE, YOU BASTARD!” she roars. “THOUGHT YOU COULD FUCK WITH GORTASH? GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!”
The debilitating pain does nothing to hamper her skill; the axe cleaves down through Amorex’s body, slicing him almost in half. The disguised devil screams and collapses, flaming blood spattering everywhere.
Karlach wrenches the axe from his flesh, summoning the energy to spit on the shredded corpse. “Fuck you,” she mutters. The inferno around her rages, giving her the appearance of an avenging angel bathed in a halo of orange.
Yes… Gortash thinks with deep satisfaction. Yes, young Karlach, she will be very pleased with you.
He watches dispassionately as the tiefling’s eyes roll up in her head and she collapses in a heap within the flames.
Two days later, he sits at his desk again, his feet up on the polished wood as he casually peruses a letter from one of his agents. Initial negotiations with the Gondian gnomes are going well. With luck they should be ready for work by the time Zariel’s first shipment comes in. And if not, I will *make* them ready.
The door opens again and, as usual, he doesn’t look up.
“Hey, boss.”
“Ah, Karlach.” He smiles placidly, turning over the sheet of paper to examine the cipher on the back. “Good to see you’re up and about again.”
“Yeah. The healer said I got pretty lucky. They were able to treat most of the burns before I even woke up.” She leans her palms on the desk casually, looking down at him. “And that fucker definitely won’t be troubling you again, so a win all around.”
He can see how her normal exuberance is a little subdued at present. It's easy to guess the reason, but he needs to maintain the illusion that everything is fine, right up until the exchange happens. So he ensures that he sounds pleasantly puzzled as he asks, “Something bothering you?”
“Huh? No.” She shakes her head. “I mean, not really. Just--” She hesitates.
Spit it out, girl. You know you’re right. But you won’t let yourself believe it. And that will be your undoing.
“I was burning to death, boss,” she finally says. “And you told me to keep going anyway.”
“Because I knew you could handle the situation,” he says smoothly, putting on his most charming smile and swinging his feet off the desk to lean towards her. “I could see the whole field; I knew you could reach him and I knew I could trust you to manage it.”
Her jaw works. He can see the warring in her mind between her perception of the situation and her loyalty to him, her trust in him. And the final nail in her coffin is hammered as the loyalty wins out, and she smiles. “Right, well. Thanks for trusting me then, boss,” she says, and gives him a jaunty salute. “You owe me one.”
“Oh, more than one,” he says gravely, and winks at her. Leaning back in his chair, he picks up the letter again and begins scribbling a note on it. “Now - you concentrate on healing up. There's a business associate of mine that I am very eager for you to meet next week, and I want you at your best.”