Illiriel
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145: The Hand That Mocked Them, and the Heart that Fed
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 04:56:18 +0000 UTCAshtoreth stared at Dazel, trying to process what he’d said. It didn’t surprise her, not really. It was more or less what she’d guessed… if a lot more extreme, from the sounds of things. But somehow, it was still hard to take in.
She knew, in an academic sense, that before fiends had ruled Hell, devils had. She knew that her father had overthrown the old King. She knew—or thought she’d known—that all of this necessitated some origin of his own, a story that described his rise to power, and that to rise to power one had to start without it.
Yes, her father had once been level 1. Her father had once not been the King of Hell. There was even a time when her father hadn’t existed at all.
To her it was all distant history, myths whose details she’d never been given.
But Dazel had been there.
He’d made it happen.
It was as much as she’d expected, and yet it was still hard to take in. She blinked, then shook her head to clear it. “What does that mean, exactly?” she said. “What did you do?”
Dazel glanced over at her, his face clouded with thought. “You were right to suspect that I’d been turned by one of the pits,” he said. “I was an elf, once. I lived too long. I won too often. And like so many weak creatures who become powerful, I came to believe that the only fault in the hierarchies of this cosmos was not that they were cruel and senseless, but that I wasn’t on top of them… that they were cruel and senseless to me, and not the people I hated, or even the people that I just didn’t care about.”
Dazel drifted further away from her, his body limp as he hovered in the air. “Do you know what it’s like to be a generational prodigy… but for the entire cosmos?” he asked. “To be, or at least think you are, the greatest spellcasting mind that an entire age has produced? Secrets unfurled before the glory of my mind like flowers opening themselves to the dawn. At a turn of my hand, entire worlds could have their fortunes reversed, could live in prosperity or suffer in darkness. I don’t think Earth’s history could show you what I’m talking about—maybe Von Neumann…”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“And now, I wonder if anyone even remembers my old name…” Dazel said, staring off into the distance. “Surely they must, in a cosmos of immortals. It used to be feel like even some of my most minor deeds was sure to echo out into eternity. Immortality was never enough for me—live enough time and time ends, or you do. Even immortals suffer the dreaded second death, the moment when one’s name is spoken for the very last time.”
He turned back to her, and to Ashtoreth’s surprise she saw tears glittering at the corners of his eyes. “Your beloved humans… they made a fool of me, you know. Boundless and bare the lone and level sands stretch far away…”
“Dazel,” Ashtoreth whispered. “I need you to focus right now. Okay?”
“I am a bitter old man, Ashtoreth,” he said, his voice filling with pain. “Bitter, but more than that… ashamed. Nothing in this whole cosmos has ever made me feel shame the way that you do.”
She fought the urge to shake him. It didn’t matter if reminiscing caused him pain, she had to know everything. “I know this must be hard for you, Dazel, but I need to know what you know.”
“Don’t think I’m not trying to explain myself,” he said, his voice distant. “I wanted to shake the foundations of the cosmos. And I did. But once I had… I wanted to do it again, but harder. I wanted the echo of my deeds to never, ever end. And in Hell, the possibilities were… limitless.”
“Limitless,” she repeated. “Because there were no ethics to get in your way?”
“You could say that,” he said.
Ashtoreth’s mind was reeling. It was too much to take in at once, and she knew that she needed her wits about her. “But what would you say?” she asked.
“The Hell of my time wasn’t the unified, autocratic megastate that you know,” he said. “My thinking was that the more influence I had over it, the more I could reign in the chaos. Stop the suffering. Hell was a great pit teeming with barbarians… their savage natures, their deplorable ways were all that I needed to see to entitle myself to their future forevermore.”
Ashtoreth stared at him, unable to keep her disgust from showing on her face. “And the first conversation we ever had,” she said slowly, “was about how wicked I was for being royalty in Hell. Do you remember?”
“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite,” Dazel said tiredly.
“I was born to that system.”
“I know, Ashtoreth.”
“And you built it?”
He sighed. “I know, Ashtoreth.”
“Well at least I make you feel ashamed!” she cried, her voice growing harsher by the word. “Goodness, Dazel, I’m glad you felt bad while you hid this from me—from Earth!”
“I didn’t feel bad because I was lying to you, Ashtoreth. Not at first.”
She crossed her arms, fuming. Did he think she’d be more merciful toward him if he beat on himself for her? “Really, Dazel?” she asked. “Well do share: what about me made you so terribly upset?”
Her anger was completely lost on him. He still just stared out into the distance, barely moving, his voice tired and lost. “For a very long time, I blamed your father for everything,” he said. “I thought that I was mentoring him, and I was. I thought… I thought that he was like me. The only mind equal to mine. He made me feel…” He trailed away, his tail falling limp.
Ashtoreth just eyed him, cautious.
“For the longest time, I tried to blame him for all of it. But the years wore that story away, or I thought they had. I thought that I’d finally admitted that it was all my fault, that I was weak, useless, vain…”
“Self pity and self loathing are twins,” Ashtoreth said. “Both of them together are the worst form of self-obsession.”
“We’ll add narcissism to the list of my crimes, I guess,” Dazel said, looking away.
“If you’re going to act like that? Yeah, we are.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “I thought I’d given up on coping with my shame by blaming your father… and then I met you. All sun, no clouds. And you came straight from the world he made to control you. And I couldn’t stand it. Still can’t.”
“You think you should have been able to resist his manipulation,” she said. “You hate that I could do it, but you can’t?”
“Every condition of your existence was something he controlled. Every piece of information, every person you met, every circumstance… and yet here you are. Breaking free.”
“Because I lucked into a chance to steal an antithesis shard,” she said. “And yes, because I’m amazing. You’re not special for falling to my father, Dazel. Everyone does.” She shrugged. “You’re not even especially weak.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But whether I am or not, the magnitude of my failure is beyond anything I’ve ever heard of in my long, long life. I thought that I was one of the greatest beings in the cosmos—worthy of ascending to the utmost echelons of power… and beyond. But all I was, all I ever amounted to, was a tool in your father’s hand. If the mighty care to look on my works, they need only sweep their eyes across the uncountable sins of Hell itself.”
Ashtoreth eyed for a moment, filled with a cool blend of frustration, pity, and disgust. “I don’t know what it’s like for you,” she said. “I’ve never spent thousands of years as a weakling demon because the monster I helped to make betrayed me. But Dazel, this is all so… so pathetic.”
He sighed again.
“See this all through my eyes for a second.”
“I don’t want to see myself through anyone’s eyes.”
Ashtoreth resisted the urge to roll hers. He could very well be the key to destroying her father… but he was just so emo. And not the stylish kind that came with a sensitive, new-age mindset toward feelings; he was sort of just a whiny little shit.
“You’re utterly brilliant,” she said. “You’re competent beyond any creature I’ve ever met in my life. With just basic stats and a bit of mana, you can run interference on the spells and enchantments of everyone we meet, including the dragon I just killed. But this… these stories you tell about yourself… they’re a complete dead-end, Dazel. And you’re smart enough to see that—you have to be!”
“Do I?” he asked, briefly glancing over at her.
“And it’s not binary where my father is concerned. Maybe he took the worst of you and built it up, and you let him—but don’t you know that the people he’s destroyed are innumerable? Nobody is immune to other people, Dazel. You can’t wholly blame him and you can’t wholly blame yourself.”
“Of all the things I thought you might say, I didn’t think you’d try to comfort me,” he said, his voice taking on a deadened quality. “Shows just how much I’ve learned, I guess.”
Ashtoreth shook her head. “Comfort you to a point, maybe. You hammered your pain deep, deep into yourself over the course of thousands of years. I can give you a hug, but I can’t fix you. I’m a fighter, not a healer.” She hesitated, and when she spoke again there was a clear note of condemnation in her voice. “And you don’t want to be healed anyway.”
“Do you think I deserve it?” he asked, practically whispering. “Do you even think I deserve my freedom, now that you know even the briefest overview of what I’ve done?”
Ashtoreth scowled and worked her jaw in frustration. “Yes,” she said. “You were right. Nothing anybody does can make them deserve this kind of servitude. If you should be punished, it should be… I don’t know, in the human way.”
“And what does that mean to you?” he asked. “The human way? Lock me in a concrete dungeon and make me stamp license plates?”
She let out a noise of frustration. “I don’t know, Dazel. Whatever your crimes are, I’m not the person to measure out what your punishment should be and then chop off all the misery you’ve already endured. Even if I was, I could overlook it all on account of the help you provide. Not because I’d want to pardon you, but because Earth’s wellbeing requires me to.”
If this was a relief to him, he didn’t show it. Instead he turned to her, his cat’s eyes seeming to carry as much haggard misery as a human’s could. “Why are you like this?”
“Heh,” Ashtoreth said humorlessly. “I’ll tell you later. For now… it doesn’t even seem like you’re all that manipulative… just sad.” She let out a sigh. “I’m going to take [Spellcasting]. And you’re going to give me spells.”
“I’ll write you a contract,” he said. “You can verify—”
“No.”
Dazel just stared.
“You were right,” she said. “If we were allies by choice, you’d get to choose to lie to me. And it doesn’t sound like you’re being manipulative… just that you’re sad and pathetic. I want to give you a light at the end of the tunnel. I doubt it’ll accomplish anything… but let’s focus on what we have in common, yeah? We have to kill him. And I need you to help me because I think that in my mind, he’s too much of a myth. Do you think you can do that?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe? It’s asking a lot.”
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Then we’re pointing in the same direction. At least for now. At least until we reach the Outer Market. Let’s go join the others—and don’t look so miserable.”
“That’s it?” he said.
“It’s what I already expected, Dazel. You feel so guilty that you’ve got no perspective.” She hesitated, then added, “And like I said—we’ll talk later.”
And when we do, she thought, you’re going to release me from our contract. Oh yes.
She dove down toward the top of the pyramid…
{Choose [Spellcasting] as your first aspect?}
“Heck yeah!” Ashtoreth whispered.
{You gained the [Spellcasting] aspect and a [Spell Slot].}
{Choose a spell.}
Comments
Aliased
Been starting to wonder the same thing. No communication is concerning
Gunnar Crider
Is everything alright?
Gunnar Crider
Does the author have a discord?
