‘Remember, this is what you asked for,’ Calidus said to him, still bound in his human form, appearing small and frail amidst the might of Asroth’s Kadoshim.

And they were everywhere. Thousands of them, beyond counting. Not the shadowy wraiths he had witnessed emerge from the cauldron in Murias, but solid, grey-skinned creatures of scale and fang and wing. They wore coats of dark mail and bore spear and sword, regarding him with curious stares. The air crackled as one close by stretched its bat-like wings.

Uthas wrenched his eyes away from them and paced down the aisle before him, focusing on Calidus’ back. He had walked what felt like a long way when a sound drew his eyes.

A scream.

He looked to his left, saw a figure chained to a post. A winged man, or what was left of a winged man.

He is Ben-Elim.

Uthas stopped and stared.

One wing of white feathers, stained with blood and grime, hung broken and useless from his back. The other wing was gone altogether, all that was left of it a frayed stump protruding from the Ben-Elim’s back. He was chained to the post, suspended by iron collars about his wrists, head slumped, dark hair hanging. Another collar of iron was fixed about his neck, the chain secured to an iron ring embedded into the ground. As Uthas stood and stared, the Ben-Elim raised his head, dark eyes fixing him.

‘Help me,’ the Ben-Elim whispered through cracked and swollen lips.

‘Why do you not just kill him?’ Uthas asked.

‘Where would be the fun in that?’ Calidus replied. ‘Besides, life and death are not the same, here in the Otherworld. It is nigh impossible to slay one of Elyon’s Firstborn. They have tried.’ He shrugged at the Kadoshim nearby. ‘So we settle for pain.’

Uthas could not take his eyes away. As he stared, a Kadoshim approached the Ben-Elim, buried a spear-blade into his belly, twisting it; the Ben-Elim screamed in agony.

‘Onwards,’ Calidus said and they carried on, the screams fading behind them.

Eventually they came to wide steps that stretched the entire length of the chamber. Uthas climbed, at their top saw a figure sitting upon a throne that resembled the looping coils of a great wyrm. The figure was reclining, a leg draped across one coiled arm of the throne.

Asroth.

He radiated power, silver hair bound into a single, thick warrior braid. He wore a coat of oil-dark mail, leathery wings curled tight behind him. Kadoshim stood about him, some were guards holding bright spears, others were in conversation with the Lord of the Fallen. They fell silent as Calidus and Uthas approached.

‘I bring an ally, my King,’ Calidus said, more reverence and fear in his voice than Uthas would have thought possible. ‘Uthas of the Benothi clan.’

Black eyes in a milky-pale face that could have been carved from alabaster regarded Uthas.