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Today something of a miracle would happen in Cania: the Archduke Mephistopheles will be returning to Mephistar. Him making it out of solidarity of his lab without being summoned by the Lord Below or by treacherous activities of his court was something akin to a miracle. Two more of these and there would be saints involved. Duke Hutijin hoped it would not get to that. Any involvement of celestials in affairs of Hells – especially one as deep as the Eighth – was highly concerning, and today is a day of celebration, not war.
It seemed like his companies did not share his enthusiasm.
The air itself was thick with panic. It seemed every noble within his sight would attempt to escape it, as if it would help hide their misdeeds. Hutijin, of course, had every single transgression documented and ready to be presented to his Lord. He also had a list of those who were disposed prepared, bit his Lord rarely cared to look at that one. Still, better safe than sorry.
Today had to be perfect. He would bring him the reports, and bask in the presence of His Lord while He would be deciding if his court gets to live another year.
Oh, how he longed for slaughter.
Ever since the Reckoning his armies haven’t been involved in the Blood War. To be fair, what was left to him after the Reckoning could hardly be called an army. Hutijin only ever left Mephistopheles’ side in his most vile nightmares, the kind that made the archdevil forego sleep almost entirely, but he still found himself occasionally reminiscing about leading legions of devils into the fight, His Lord raining arcane destruction on the demons from behind. But despite his longing for the battlefield, Hutijin knew that the peaceful times have brought unprecedented development in hellfire research, even if, according to Mephistopheles, it became somewhat stagnant in the last millennium. Mephistopheles will handle the research and Hutijin will make the environment for said research safe. That was their unspoken agreement.
There was more than enough proof that at least two members of the court are working for Baalzebul, and all he needs is a single word from His Lord to make them disappear into the icy wastes of Cania.
Except Archduke of Cania was nowhere to be seen.
The steward announced His return about 2 hours ago, and two hours ago He should have teleported to His citadel, as sudden as a bolt of lightning. A bolt of hellfire. Is there such a thing? Hutijin did not concern himself with hellfire, only it’s Master.
He stood up slowly, making the entire room go silent. Sixty six burning-red eyes, whose owners were just a few seconds ago engaged in a fun game of “does the person next to me look more guilty than I do”, beloved by canian aristocracy during Mephistopheles’ visits, were now all turned to him. They looked scared. Good.
When he first came to Cania, Huijin struggled to distinguish between the crackle of ice beneath his feet and the ever present crackle of electricity of his body. It was bothering the duke so much he even went to Mephistopheles to ask for a way to differentiate the sounds. The Archduke, now imbued with the power of the hellish flames, simply said: “Why does it matter?”. And He was right, as He usually tended to be. The crackle was an expression of his power, making everyone aware of his presence and his authority. There was truly no difference weather this power comes from his affinity with lightning or his terrifyingly massive frame. It makes those below him scared all the same.
Right now Hutijin needed to find Mephistopheles, and to do so he needed to find the only person in Mephistar who had seen Him in the last five months. Out of all of canian dukes, the steward was the hardest one to find. He was torn between searching the realm for intruders, dealing with Mephistopheles’ cults and suspecting everything that moves of treason. That what was not moving by itself the steward moved and then accused of treason.
Needless to say, even when the duke was found, dealing with him was never pleasant. At least finding him should be somewhat easier, given that during the Lord of the Eight’s visits all dukes – save for Bifrons – were ordered to stay within Mephistar. The citadel was still big enough to make the search take some time, but with some luck Huijin would find him in the next hour. Considering that his companies stayed within the grand hall, the only devil that should be roaming the citadel were Nexroth’s cornugon, busy with their manual tasks, finding a single duke of hell should not prove that difficult.
***
Nobody who called Hells their home could really be considered “lucky”. Even the highest ranks of devil were subject to unforeseen circumstances that would change their life, usually for the worse, in seconds. After near two hours of fruitless search for the steward, Hutijin was very much subject to said change, if Mephistopheles did visit the grand hall in his absence.
It was near the hall Hutijin has finally found what he was searching for. Sixteen gelugons stood guard near the entrance, their master leaving the hall, telling something to one of Hutijin’s pit fiends. After throwing a quick glance at his companies – sixty six, all pit fiends, that means Mephistopheles is yet to be there - he all but carried the steward to an empty corridor nearby. Steward’s guard attempted to follow their master, but Hutijin stopped them with a gesture.
“Duke Hutijin, your manners are, as always immaculate”, said the steward when his feet have hit the ground, “though, I expected you to be a bit better at following orders, considering your position.”
The only one who could give him orders is Mephistopheles. To do so Mephistopheles needed to appear.
“Where have you been?” he sounded excessively annoyed by this conversation, considering it’s length.
“Ah, that is exactly the question I was going to ask you,” the steward put on a smile so slimy that Hutijin started to consider his involvement with Baalzebul, “Your schedule says you should be at the grand hall, awaiting Lord Mephistopheles’ arrival, yet when I come, you are nowhere to be seen. You must understand, that by disappearing like that you are not only making your own motives unclear, but also leaving your companies to their own devices.”
Steward’s manner of speech was starting to be tiring.
Leaving potential traitors on their own was not the smartest thing to do, but Hutijin had little choice in the matter. It was best to leave traitors with those eager for promotion, so their potential misdeeds can be reported.
“Those fuckers are watching each other better than I can watch them. If one leaves then sixty-five will report their absence to me.”
“My question still stands,” the steward was still smiling.
“You’ve announced Lord Mephistopheles’ return more than four hour ago. Where is He?”
“As you might know, Lord Mephistopheles does not report to me. Nether does he to you. He will be back when he will be back. Your job is to wait.”
His job was to protect Mephistopheles, be it from assassins or intrigue. His job was the very antithesis of waiting.
“There are important matters we need to discuss. Urgently. Where is He?”
“Of course,” the smile grew bigger and steward’s face looked even less pleasant now, “Important matters that you need to discuss when our lord is alone and, preferably, unarmed.”
“By the Hells, Adonides, He’s a wizard, He’s never unarmed!”
Hutijin only realized that he might’ve been too loud when steward’s guard showed up to assess the situation. Neither of them were foolish enough to try to help their master.
“Of…course…” finally, the smile fell, “There is no need to be aggressive, Duke Hutijin. Last I’ve seen him, he was in the west wing. If you want more information, you should ask Duke Barbas. He is far more aware of the happenings of Mephistar.”
The steward sounded like a cornered beast attempting to do diplomacy. He bowed slightly, gestured to his guard and went into the high hall, no doubt to watch everyone gathered in there for signs of treason.
Though his tone greatly amused Hutijin, his words did not. The mere idea of finding and talking to another fellow duke, especially one as untrustworthy as Barbas, made him want to relieve Mephistopheles of at least one of them. Preferably Barbas. This one was always ready to take the most valuable item from Mephistopheles’ collection and run to the first archduke who will take him.
Mindless murder was looked down upon in Cania, and doing so to a duke was rightfully considered treason. Barbas was not hard to find – the sloth barely left his office – but the stress of this day was becoming too much for Hutijin, and he was sure that if he were to waste another second to pointless talking someone would die.
***
Despite Hutijin’s office officially being located in the west wing, he wasn’t visiting the place often. While his office was a nice place, he couldn’t bring all the sensitive documentation there. This part of Cania held living quarters for most of the staff, and was generally full of devils at all times of day. Expect the days when Mephistopheles returned.
All of nobility were in the high hall, all of the staff were working, leaving this place almost completely empty, save for a single duke walking through the halls seemingly aimlessly.
Hutijin was unsure on what to look for. He wasn’t going to open every door, and had no idea how he would recognize his Lord’s presence. Maybe they would meet in the halls, but with every staircase down Hutijin took, the prospect seemed less and less likely. Down below only the scum of devil society lived. Mephistopheles had no reason to be there.
He went through another empty hall, ignoring multitudes of living quarters, hoping that some sort of miracle would bring him to His master, even though he knew that Hells was no place for miracles. Yet he heard a sound.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Only hellfire could melt Cania’s enchanted ice and not a single creature who lived this low would be capable of using hellfire. It had to be Mephistopheles. Saying a few choice words to all things celestial Hutijin went towards the sound.
***
Mephistopheles was angry. Very angry.
The hatred in his eyes would have stopped Hutijin’s heart were it not designed specifically to withstand this exact emotion. If anything were to kill him, it would be the dark flames swirling around the Archduke.
There was a certain list of things one can do that were considered inappropriate in Cania. Like looking Mephistopheles in the eye, deviating from one’s schedule or walking into a room when the body of it’s owner is lying charred next to the entrance, yet to go cold. All the things Hutijin was doing now.
“My Lord,” he said in a desperate attempt to appear cordial. He was expected to die in battle, not like this, “What are you doing in a place like this?”
The room was rather unbecoming for The Lord of the Eighth. It was made for a cornugon servant, and had very little in terms of furnishing. A bed, a chair and a table. The floor of the room was melted, water now electrified by Hutijin’s presence. Mephistopheles deserved much better than that.
Despite the state His Lord was in, the hatred was not meant for him, and Mephistopheles was making a visible effort to control himself. The grip on the back of the chair he was sitting on was less and less likely to crush the fragile wood, his chest was rising and falling a bit more rhythmically with each passing second and the hellfire aura around him was fading.
Still, he chose not to talk.
Under the watchful gaze of His Lord Hutijin went fully through the door and closed it behind him. He considered sitting down on the bed, but this kind of gesture seemed inappropriate right now. Instead, he stopped halfway through the room.
A few seconds latter the voice came.
“Nothing, Hutijin,” said Mephistopheles in the best approximation of His court voice, “I had an idea I wanted to check. How are the nobles faring?”
“Nobody can fare well in the steward’s company. I only hope his scrutiny is aimed at the actual traitors this time,” said Hutijin as he stood up behind The Archduke, whose focus seemed to be entirely on the papers He was working on before interruption.
“I am sure it will be,” answered Mephistopheles while putting the papers in a single pile, “I am even more sure Adonides will give you names of at least sixty more traitors,” His face turned into a frown when looking at one of the papers, “But it is a matter for another time. Now, why are you here, Hutijin?”
The duke was stunned into silence. He has found His Lord, but did he really need to? Of course not. If he had stayed in the grand hall Mephistopheles would have come eventually, and he would have given Him the reports, and The Archduke would have given him orders to kill those unfortunate enough to be in these reports. And right now he was standing behind Mephistopheles with no reports and no reason to be there, other than that he wanted to see Him.
“Hutijin?” there was a hint of malice in the voice of Mephistopheles. The genius mind of the Lord of the Eighth could never rest, be it for better or for worse. He suspected something.
His Lord had many different moods. Most of them were dangerous. Some more than others. His suspicions, which usually had little ground, were rarely survived by the ones unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of this emotion. Hutijin was standing in front of a mountain he had dedicated his life to climbing, only to realize it to be a volcano.
“Ever since I met you I wanted to die for you,” he said, looking down into Mephistopheles’s dead white eyes. He made a step closer. The air around His Lord’s body was noticeably hotter. “As we fought the demon hordes and as we build this citadel I wished for nothing more than for my life’s end to prolong yours. If you wish it to be now – then do so, for I have no answer to that question. If my end will bring you more comfort than my life – I’d rather be dead.”
Mephistopheles looked at him as if his words were the most nonsensical collection of sounds he had ever heard. Then, He smiled. Then, Hutijin felt an impossibly hot hand touch him.