Through the lens of eternity all things begin to pale. Even the exotic and unusual lose their luster. The record of my experiences dates back to the dawn of civilization. I have dined with kings, debauched with poets, indulged in music and dance. All of this to burst the very hearts of mortals to break their allegiances and eventually pave their way to Hell's broad ways.
All these things I have eschewed for that one very elusive thing. A thing that countless mortals who have had it--squandered it. A thing that was given but may never have been returned. A thing that even the most bitter, tasting that sweetness, albeit fleeting, would give their lives to experience again.

I speak of love. The stuff of mortals. The stuff of fantasy. A thing that only the divine could possibly have mustered up to keep these bags of meat plodding along their respective paths. The thought of it made hell creep and quake with the desire of it, but it was the one trump card that was always held by those who opposed us.

My form had been a perverse mimicry of love. If Enzo had known what he stood to lose, he may never have continued his dark pursuit. But one could only know Enzo so well...

But now, with my birth into this new existence I was free to obtain the unattainable. The bitterness of my epic past with the thought that I would aways be excluded was swallowed up in the hope of it. Still, hope was a tenuous thread in this place. And the Tailor still held the shears poised to snip that strand.

I spent a moment looking at the smoke and ash darkened sky then a glance at the mortals standing like pillars of glory at their respective corners. Each seemed to hold back the darkness that crept among the ruins.

Marching order was determined and we moved out from under the mosque and followed the directions that Corman had garnered from the Nalfanshee devil. Though the devil's words were taken with much apprehension, in the end his proferred advise mirrored the actions the Tailor had made eleven hours prior.
“We're getting closer. He's not that far ahead of us.” Calais voice was matter of fact, but the strain in his voice was apparent.

Though they had now spent days, or eons as it were, in Hell, they were ever out of their element. They were in constant fear of being bowled over by the legions of Hell and rightly so. It seemed only a matter of time before there was a misstep that would bring the whole carefully laid plan crashing down on them.
Us. Not just them. I was part of this strange dance between my past and future. The struggle showed in the signs of damage around me and, at the core of it all, was a small band of mortals scratching out an endgame against all odds.

The men and women who were my present company represented the last hope to abate the will of my former master. They had stitched a bond from the tapestry of adversity. Though I was still an outsider they afforded me the comforts of camaraderie. The fair haired nobleman had been the first to question my motives but also to extend a hand in friendship. Around my shoulders I wore a cape bearing the markings of his ancestry. The half-elf, Silverhawk, was his companion and sometimes lover. I could tell by her posture she jealously guarded their bond. She too had shown a level of compassion for me in my time of change. Proffering her spare traveling clothes to accommodate my new found modesty.

Though, from the looks the men still stole, I knew this clothing had an allure that was perhaps more suggestive than nothing at all. I could sense, from that age old understanding, that my newfound purity was also a draw that was hard to not contemplate. Even with now being mortal, there was a waning tolerance for the lustful looks of men. It was curious how things have changed. Even more was the creature that I was slowly becoming. I was guarding something so closely that I had used as a casual ensnarement for so very long. I looked to the ground and shook my head. Desire, pain, and this perpetual need to feel part of something greater than myself. The dusty wind blew sand into my eyes and had me wincing. Mortality seemed to slap me to sensibility often even with as little time as we had been together. My insides seemed to rage with an unquenchable fire. "Was the mortal condition, constantly bombarded with needs, desires, sensations, or would this ebb in time?" The others seemed not to display their discomfots if they had them. It required all my discipline not to scream. Perhaps they were raging inside as well? If this is the perpetual state of man to be conflicted thusly, it is no wonder pleasure is such a powerful tool.

Silverhawk loped up ahead, moving like a wolf through the debris. She dropped to her stomach on a slight rise while the rest of us slowly moved to her position. She raised a flattened hand and slowly brought it down. Calais, recognizing the sign, quickly moved among the ranks whispering to drop to a knee while Silverhawk did her job.
“It's clear up ahead. The forces are pressing their ranks, but there has been no order to move on either side.”
She slid back down the hill getting more than a few glances as her well formed figure coiled into a cross-legged pose.
She would have done well herself in this place, though her innocence would have quickly washed away. I think it was that innocence was what brought them together. Those subtle vulnerabilities on either side wouldn't allow them to come together any other way. Though I was now considered innocent, the deeds from my past were still clearly visible too. Any thought of true innocence was laced with those memories that made it painful to revisit because of my newfound mortality. My soul may be innocent, but I still hate the weight of memory that would guarantee that I would never understand a newborn mortals purity.

Calais and Silverhawk, I was thankful to them both, though I had no way to convey that thought. The words of graciousness had never taken a strong root in me. I had been taught a certain falseness in order to use those words to my own will. However, saying these things when I truly meant them still seemed poisonous. It was hard to speak them without feeling like I was betraying those I longed to show gratitude to. It would be hard to still comprehend the past without pulling that poison forward with me as a decidedly left that existence. Memory would keep and, in some cases, I would have to selectively “forget” in order to survive. I had no idea how to do this. I would have to learn as I went and, sadly, I would be keeping everyone at arms length while I figured it out. I was afraid to poison the friendships that perhaps would develop.
Friendship. The idea was mind numbingly foreign. These mortal ideas that I had no touch with accented my sense of being an unwanted interloper.
Celeste stood calmly, unconsciously dusting the reddish dirt from her cloak. “We should lay low here for a bit while those dragons up there move away from this area.” She pointed to the sickly white sky at winged beasts that were moving in circles well above the city.

The rations they had shared with me consisted of smoked meats, dried fruits and unleavened bread. As I bit into a shriveled grape the burst of flavor threatened to unbalance me. Had I never tasted food before? I repressed the urge to dump the whole measure of my rations into my eager mouth. I rifled through the bag seeking other treasures of the palette. The others looked on, thinking nothing of the simple rations they consumed without more thought than to sate hunger.

It took a little effort to keep from announcing the grandness of it all! Still, I withheld myself. Bursting at the seams to explore and share my newfound mortality. Looking around with something akin to excitement was met with a few smiles.
“You look to be enjoying yourself.” Caspar spoke with a quirky smile. He seemed to constantly question my motives, but he had seemed to let that go with my advent into mortality. He was the enabler for it, however, not quite the author of it. It was a gift from Dagmar and Thanatos, but they were clear in their instructions that I still held the pen that drew my future.

The holy warrior maiden then called an end to our break and we continued our journey. I had scavenged a sword of standard quality from the bodies of the dead. It's cold forged steel brushing against my thigh, an action that would have elicited much suffering in my previous incarnation. Cold steel was baleful to me then. Now it was a small measure of protection for me in this hostile place.

How much mischief I would suffer for if the nobility of hell discover my current vulnerable state. My body has been a object of lust for my entire existence. A tool to test the mettle of men. I had been subject to the wills of others, in my caste I was privileged even for one of my low station. Demon and devil alike coveted my flesh. The craft was in only answering to one master at a time. A free agent succubus was subject to unyielding deprivation.

This place that had been my home--for what has literally been an eternity--now offered little comfort. The sense of vulnerability threatened to paralyze me with fear if I dwelt to long on the thought of what might be.

Fear. How interesting a notion was that. It's a concept that I understood academically for ages. Now, it nestled quietly in my bones, seeping through the sinew and veins that invaded my entire being. I had never more deeply felt the risk of Hell now that my existence was tied to a soul. Each crunching step taken over the terrain, bones and bodies of Hell seemed to emphasize how fragile the link between body and soul was. This was mine and here I stood, in hell, now twice my birthplace, to defend this tenuous connection at all costs. I have been given the chance the eternities could never afford and I wouldn't lose it without exhausting all options.

For a time we moved through the charred scrabble. Familiar buildings seen through foreign eyes. It was a wonder that a place so remarkable had come to such great ruin. When the strongest of ours leave, the pocket left behind fills with the weaker beings who desperately try to scrape and scratch an empire together. It was a futile pursuit, but until the last building lay as the finest of dust, this war would rage.

The trench turned subtly and there we emerged before the walls of Mox. Just as the Nalfanshee devil had described. We were facing the immense wall with the soot caked maw that was the sapper's hole.
We also stood in the deep wound between two warring factions, just out of sight from any eyes glancing our direction. We were a considerable distance from the armies, but the numerous dead showed that what the Nalfanshee devil had reported, the 15th had recently fallen back and the 12th would soon fill the hole left behind.

The banners flagging overhead signified the old front line. The tokens of differing allegiances colored the battlements and the soldiers on either side of us. It took a moment to find my own place in this madness. I was no longer a part of hel'ls infernal machine. The thought took me by surprise each time it came to confront me. Fractured bodies piled deep formed the broad layers of the sediment here. Conflict flowed like an eternal bloody river in this place of punishment. At our feet was the path where it flowed with a greater fervor.

Time was short, the talk between the mortals showed that they knew it, too. If we didn't move quickly, we would part of history not making it.
The group took a few banners and put them together to face the forces friendly to them on either side. It was a simple ruse, but it may keep them from shooting at us for a time. We proceeded like a small expeditionary force across the short opening that was visible to both sides until we reached the relative safety of the trench that reappeared just before the foot of the wall.
I stared into the sapper's hole. Light was unable to penetrate the tomb-like blackness. Motes of ash floated at the edge of the darkness that marked the entrance to the tunnel. I had the impression of watching dust move on an invisible whale.

The fair haired nobleman steeled his resolve first and moved deeper in, holding his bow at the ready with arrow loosely held on the bowstring. His companion--in craft and in spirit--mirrored his actions on the opposite side of the road. Her posturing was significantly different, though. She held her bow more direct. She pulled the bowstring back slightly more and eyed the terrain with a certain ferocity that I had seen before. She had anger yet unresolved that she was wielding like a weapon on this battlefield. It was entirely appropriate to do so, but there would have to be a time that it was dealt with or... as always, the faltering mortal soul would bend and break under the stress of unrequited emotions.

They were an interesting match. When I first encountered them some months ago their love had not yet bloomed. Her affection for him was as palpable. The road to their love was one born of temptation and trial tempered with duty and purpose. Strangely, the innocence of both made them a match that could work. Could work...
Why did everything seem so temporary and bound to destruction?
Perhaps it was just the nature of where I had come from. I had seen the worst. It was easy to see what buttons to press to drive them apart, but those times had passed. Strangely enough, I found comfort in the passionate, yet unstable nature of all of these relationships.

The prime examples standing in front of me were the seemingly mismatched Enzo and Celeste. Enzo stood in front of Celeste holding both a weapon of evil and a weapon of good. He was never one for subtlety. Celeste was keenly watching the Rangers investigate. She always had a perpetual air of authority around her. It was both violating and comforting as she was both my enemy... and my friend within mere hours. My previous master was consistently hostile toward me because of her interference. It was hard to let go of a past that was miles away for a new start, but I only had good will and intentions toward her... even if didn't always seem as such.

This small ensemble of mortals that seemed to threaten the very fabric of my previous master's plans. I hoped they would, but even I still remain unsure. They were fraught with enough personal turmoil to make it unimaginable that they could upset a plan that had been centuries in the making. Even knowing my own mortal frame for mere moments in my eternal existence, I could feel the sway of rational and irrational pulling at every moment and every decision. It was no wonder that mortals, though sometimes easy to sway, were impossible to predict in trying situations.

Calais entered the maw momentarily. I could see him scratching around in the dust. He stepped back from the entrance a little and looked up to the roof of the hole.
“I could wait all day. Your arms are sure to tire eventually!” He bellowed into the opening and drew his bow back and aimed.
Silverhawk took a knee, seeming to be unsure at what Calais was seeing. Calais had been wearing a pair of glasses I had known to be magical and showed him the true nature of things. Apparently, he had spotted something. Upon hearing Calais' words, everyone sprung into action: Corman pulled the Cuthbert holy symbol from his belt and held it in front of him when the flashing white blade materialized, Celeste brought her blades to bear, Enzo's scaly arms tensed with the weight of both swords and Caspar began chanting to ready himself.

There was an earthshaking crash and several forms immediately materialized around a huge hulking black mass that remained in the cover of the sapper's hole.
Calais shouted, “Horned devils!”
Silverhawk peppered her first target punching several holes in the hide of the closest devil. Calais also took action against the one closest to him and dealt a series of critical wounds with his quick bowmanship. A deep rumbling chant was shaking the soot and filling from the ceiling which gave me an idea thinking upon my newfound abilities. The chanting ended and Calais, looking into the darkness shouted, “Look out!”
A briskly paced burning speck of ember shot from the darkness and burst into a massive flaming ball, exploding in the midst of the group. The flames licked around Corman, Caspar, Celeste and Enzo while both Calais and Silverhawk managed to dodge the blast. The heat seemed extreme while Corman shuddered an exhale in pain and wisps of smoke rose from Caspar 's still standing form. I managed to stay just out of reach of the blast, but I felt the heat as intensly as if I had been burned.

I took the opportunity, calling on the power given to me: Arcane. It coldly simmered within me when I gripped the energy. Meddling with this power was like running a freezing steel blade across my tongue. Making me shudder with the sharp--but muted--pain and its strange metallic taste. It was both comforting and terrifying to grasp it so readily. My only power was dependent on hell before this time and now, it was something else entirely, a force neither divine or hellish in origin. It was the power of the self, of the universe. It felt … natural to wield it. I called on the stones of the wall to come crashing down on all the beings within the gap and was awarded with a series of pained grunts as they fell.

As the dust was still settling, Celeste took point speaking in a barely audible tone, “We can't let him do that again.” She sped into the darkness, evading two horned devil's as she did.
Enzo was taken by surprise, “Don't go in there! Are you insane?”
She was cloaked in darkness by the time the words left his mouth.
“Get back here! Enzo said ernestly.
Calais dropped his bow and drew his weapons. “We need to back her up.” Enzo, wild-eyed, looked around. “No, not you, too. She'll come back out!” Calais made a move to get around Enzo, but Enzo barred his path. The gush of air from Calais' lungs when Enzo caught and held him told the story well enough. Calais' had just enough time to voice a bitter protest after Enzo held him back.
“Are you going to let her die in there?” Calais was incredulous, eyes wide by Enzo's actions.
“She'll come back.” Enzo's own words were fading even as he said them. He seemed to realize that she wasn't coming back.
Enzo, in an effort to get to Celeste, moved up to the nearest devil and made short work of him, cutting him down immediately. Within the hole, as we drew closer, we could see the massive entity at work, his saber like claws tearing into her flesh. As my eyes attuned to the darkness my fears were realized. Standing at the lowest point of the tunnel was a bastard spawn of Orcus. Its horned head slashing at the maiden warrior. The spawn bore gaping wound in its side likly the work of Celeste. The spawn continued to rampage though the wound was ebbing his strength. The demon breed's fury was not fully vented until she lay defensless on the ground at his feet. Even in the darkness of the tunnel it somehow seemed even more bleak.

It was completely disheartening. Her frame was broken and crushed and the entire party was stunned. Celeste was all of their strength, in a way, she was the one who kept them going in this place. For me, the sight was far too much to comprehend, but Enzo was visibly shaken and enraged by the act. He approached the menace, taking a blow from the beast, then dealing his own. Calais and Silverhawk both reduced the horned devils to nothing with withering volleys of arrow and blades, while Caspar stepped in, readying his own resolve and pointed at the massive beast.
“Ashes to Ashes. Dust to dust.” He whispered under his breath. A beam lanced into the darkness and penetrated the Spawn's oily skin.

It was a moment a complete silence interrupted by the being bellowing then writhing in pain, shaking the walls and the ground around us. Bright red shafts of light pierced from every orifice. It seemed a magical fire was burning from within it, brightly bursting forth from the gaping wounds, then from the beast's eye sockets, then fingertips until the skeletal frame was fully visible through the thinning husk. The wailing continued until the very last moment and the light consumed him, spewing ashen remains around the dirt floor. The entire party wore the remains within moments joining the perpetual crust caked on their forms from their entire advent in hell.

Corman reached Celeste and looked over her quickly. He pressed a hand to the caved side of her chest and whispered fervently. “Dagmar, my ally. She is not one of yours but she is one of ours. I ask as your voice to let her be healed by your power.” An invisible force moved noticeably through Corman to Celeste. She arched her back and gasped as the bones knitted back into place and her sunken ribs reforming under the hands of the Cleric. It truly was a delight to see and to not feel a sickness run over my being from being so near divine power.

“We need to keep moving.” The party was startled. As Celeste spoke, she was already to her feet and moving with a dangerous look in her eyes. “Enzo, we'll talk about this later.”
“What did I do? You ran off into them like some crazed troll!” Enzo was emphatically waving his swords around.
“No one would have survived another blast, least of all the wizard and cleric. I had to stop it.” Celeste's voice was steely with the delivery. She barely looked at him while saying it.
There was a lot of intensity and emotion, but Corman had a wide grin stuck to his face while watching the exchange. Likely because he thought no one was looking at him. It was an endearing moment that everyone, save myself had missed.

The other end of the sapper's hole was a large building lined with barbed-wire barriers. A few windows looking down on the surprisingly untouched streets started to fill with winged forms. Silverhawk and Calais fired a barrage of arrows at each of them, whittling them down to nothing in the shock of a moment. Celeste rounded the corner and spied a few large juggernauts that were moving this direction. It seemed that they were on patrol, but they had not spotted the party yet.
Silverhawk shot across the street and moved through an archway. She flagged the rest of the party through the archway and moved out ahead. The juggernaut's growl turned to a roar as it picked up speed when catching sight of the party weaving through the city streets. Calais moved up with her and they moved together like a pair of hunters on the prowl. They seemed to fan through all possible routes by the time we caught up with them they had already started picking a path through the city proper. The sounds of the juggernaut was still approaching then mingled with additional forces. There was a gap where another juggernaut was on patrol watching an especially wide cross street. Caspar put a large stone wall in place across most of the path, with only a small bit still visible. All of us bolted through with the exception of Corman, who seemed to be perpetually lagging behind everyone else.
Enzo was exasperated and Calais was urging him along. “Come on! Move it!” Enzo was shouting over the sound of the approaching juggernaut. “Are you always this slow? I swear I can hear you over the sound of that … thing!” Enzo pointed emphatically toward the juggernaut.
Corman tried to bolt through the gap hoping that the metal contraption would be caught unaware, but just as he stepped into the opening, a series of loud explosions and the ground erupting around Corman throwing dust, bricks and mortal into the air in every direction. He flopped into the alleyway bleeding through his armor, but still quite aware and afraid. The party helped him to his feet and moved briskly down the remaining alleyway and then stopped when approaching a huge courtyard with an imposing structure in the center.
“Mephistar!”
The shrill yet gravelly voice of the white imp cut through the air around them and his form appeared.
Enzo and Calais pulled their blades. Enzo moved toward the imp the grip on his swords whitening, “I swore I'd kill you next time you did that.” The White Imp grimaced and winked out as Enzo swung through the air.