Zac was on his knees in the hallway outside the war room, tears streaming down his face in rivulets of pure despair. He wasn't crying because of the near-death experience with the imps. He wasn't crying because he was overwhelmed by the demonic war. He was crying because he had just been offered a buffet of prime, A-grade monster meat and told he was allergic to protein.
"NO!" he wailed, pounding his fist against the cold stone floor. "OSE FUCKED ME!"
Bune hovered over him, wringing all four of his hands in distress. The butler had reverted to his two-headed form, his third, vulgar head having retreated in the face of such raw, confusing emotion.
"There, there, little avatar," the Left Head cooed, patting Zac awkwardly on the shoulder with a claw. "It's not so bad. The imps are gone. The Captain saved you."
"THERE'S ALWAYS A CATCH!" Zac sobbed, snot bubbling unglamorously. "AND THIS IS HELL! HE SENT ME TO HELL!"
The Right Head tilted, looking genuinely perplexed. "Well… yes. This is Hell. What did you expect? Did the brochure mislead you?"
"Should we turn the temperature up?" the Left Head asked solicitously. "Is it too cold? Humans are fragile. Do you require a specific humidity level for optimal emotional regulation?"
Zac sniffed loudly, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his nice black robes. His eyes burned with a righteous fury. "I don't care about the humidity! I care about the fact that I am surrounded by six of the hottest, most dangerous, most incredibly specific demonic archetypes in existence, and I can't touch any of them!"
He stood up, pacing frantically in a small circle. "If I ever see that leopard again, I am going to wring that kitty's neck! And not in a sexual way! I mean actual, non-erotic violence! To send me on a mission where I can't get busy with the physical incarnations of my dark and questionable sexual fantasies is literally the most asshole thing anyone has ever done, ever! It's a war crime! It's cruel and unusual punishment!"
Bune's heads exchanged a look.
"I believe," the Right Head whispered, "he is suffering from acute reproductive frustration."
"Fascinating," the Left Head murmured, taking notes on a mental clipboard. "Is this common in virgins? The volatile emotional state?"
"I can hear you!" Zac shouted, turning on them. "And yes! It is common! Especially when the virginity is enforced by a hot wolf who can hyper-beam things into atomic particles!" He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor again, hugging his knees. "I just wanted to be knotted," he whispered miserably. "Is that so much to ask?"
Bune sighed, a twin-stream of sympathetic smoke. "Come now, Avatar. The Captain has a plan. And surely, serving the war effort is its own reward?"
Zac looked up at the dragon with dead eyes. "Bune. Look at me. Do I look like I care about the war effort? I came here for the benefits package."
"Well," the Right Head said brightly, trying to pivot. "The kitchen has prepared lunch. We have… food?"
Zac's stomach gave a treacherous rumble. He sniffed again. "Waffles?"
"Edible food," the Left Head corrected. "You eat it, and then you are full."
Zac sighed, a long, rattling sound of defeat. "Fine. I'll eat waffles. But I'm going to be bitter about it."
Much to Zac's dismay, and despite Bune's promises, there were no waffles.
Bune led him into the formal dining room, a space that felt less like a place to eat and more like a place to hold a seance for a murdered king. The room was vast, the ceiling lost in shadow. Tall, arched windows lined one wall, looking out onto a swirling grey mist that pressed against the glass. Zac frowned. 'We walked deep into the castle,' he thought, disoriented. 'Like, subterranean deep. How are there windows? And why is it foggy? Is the castle haunted by weather?'
The room was lit by hundreds of tall, white candles in heavy silver candelabras that dripped wax onto the black tablecloth. At the very center of the impossibly long table, next to the Captain's imposing high-backed chair, a single place was set.
On a fine silver platter sat a severed Bicorn head.
It was roasted, the skin glazed and crackling, but unmistakably a head. Its eyes were closed, its lips pulled back to reveal teeth, and its spiral horns had been polished to a shine. A garnish of what looked like blood-parsley was tucked behind one ear.
Zac stared at the head. He looked up at Bune. He looked back at the head.
"Nope," Zac said, turning on his heel.
"But Avatar!" Bune's Left Head protested, hurrying after him. "It is a delicacy! The cheeks are quite flavorful! Tender as butter!"
"Where's the kitchen?" Zac demanded, striding back out into the hallway. "I'm finding the waffles. Or cereal. Or dry toast. Anything that doesn't have a face."
"I can cut it for you!" the Right Head offered helpfully. "You won't even have to look him in the eye!"
Zac ignored him, beginning his own impromptu inspection of the corridor. He was hungry, caffeine-deprived, and emotionally compromised. How was he supposed to have a proper breakdown without coffee?
He threw open the first door on his left. Inside was a collection of wooden and cast-iron devices. Racks, wheels, iron maidens, that looked profoundly uncomfortable and stained with things Zac didn't want to identify. 'Nope. Torture gym. Moving on.'
He tried the next door. A room filled with cages suspended from chains, the floor slick with fluids. Something in a cage growled wetly. 'Nope. Petting zoo from hell. Pass.'
He opened the third door. It opened into nothingness. A pit, circular and smooth-walled, dropping away into absolute darkness. Zac leaned over the edge, squinting. He couldn't see the bottom. Curious, he kicked a small pebble into the void.
One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… elev-
SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!
An eldritch shriek, a sound of pure, alien hunger, exploded from the depths, echoing up the shaft with enough force to ruffle Zac's hair.
Zac was yanked backward by his collar as Bune slammed the door shut with all four hands, leaning his weight against it.
"Please do not be rude!" the Left Head scolded, dusting off Zac's robes with frantic motions. "You could have been hurt! Or worse, eaten by a Void-Leech! They stain terribly!"
Zac looked back at the door, unphased. "Whatever made that sound probably wasn't a hunk like you, Bune. Sorry, new roomie!" he yelled at the wood. "Just be glad I didn't think that was the toilet!"
He started back down the hall, a bounce in his step. The near-death encounter faded instantly, his fear-suppressed brain treating it as nothing more than a mild surprise.
Bune finally broke. The butler looked exhausted. "The kitchen," the Right Head sighed, pointing down a perpendicular corridor, "is this way. Please. Do not wake anything else up. This place is dangerous for a human. You cannot just open doors willy-nilly."
Zac beamed, turning to the dragon. "Thank you, Bune! You know, I'm so glad you volunteered to help me get settled in. It's nice to have a friendly face. Or two."
The dragon man straightened, preening slightly under the praise. Both heads nodded vigorously, fangs gleaming in toothy smiles. "Of course, Zac! You are such a unique avatar. Yes, yes, whatever you need. Since we will be keeping you here until the Captain finalizes his plans, we must ensure you remain… pristine."
"Pristine," Zac repeated dryly. "Like a collectible action figure in its original packaging."
"Exactly!" the Right Head beamed. "Mint condition!"
"Even though I made you leak?" Zac said casually over his shoulder as he turned toward the kitchen corridor.
Bune choked. Both heads sputtered, cheeks darkening to a deep, embarrassed violet. "I- that- it is complicated! Dragon physiology is complex! It was a hoarding response!"
The butler quickly accelerated into his fast-walk shuffle, his larger frame allowing him to easily outpace the human and hide his flustered expression. "Let's get you something to eat!" the Left Head declared loudly. "You look a bit scrawny. Much smaller than the normal paladins we receive. No meat on your bones at all."
"Are they buff?" Zac asked, jogging slightly to keep up. "Like Halphas? Ugh, do you know where he works out? Is it somewhere up in the Pit? I bet he has a gym membership in Hell."
"No, no," Bune coughed, regaining his composure. "Unfortunately, it sounds like that sky-rat will be making his nests here for the foreseeable future. He didn't even pick up his bullet casings!"
Zac stopped dead in the hallway. "Oh, fuck."
He had been too emotionally compromised after Marchosias had kicked him out of the war room... something about rolling around on the tactical map table and cry-yelling about his celibacy and not caring about anything but getting his back blown out by a demon... to fully process the Captain's orders.
Lockdown.
The wolf had told the other demons they were grounded. Whatever duties they could complete were to be done from the keep. Everything else was curtailed.
"Does that mean…" Zac whispered, eyes widening. "He will be working out here? They're all moving in?"
Bune stopped and looked back. "Yes. The Captain insisted. To keep an eye on everyone. It's going to be a logistical nightmare.... Skarg eats enough for a platoon, and Nock requires a humidity-controlled armory for his capes."
Zac looked around the austere, gothic hallway as if seeing it for the first time. The shadows seemed deeper, the alcoves more inviting.