Bune returned a moment later, herding a dozen creatures that looked like they had been assembled from the leftover parts of a nightmare factory. They were imps, but not the mischievous, pointy-eared pranksters of cartoons. These things were squat, muscular, and covered in skin that looked like pebbled leather, weeping yellow fluid from sores and boils. And, true to the apparent fashion of Hell, they were stark naked.
Zac grimaced. "Okay, ew," he muttered. "Definitely not the aesthetic I was hoping for." He tried to avert his eyes, but it was like looking at a car crash made of meat.
"They have been instructed to eat you for breakfast," Marchosias said, his voice devoid of comfort. He stepped back, folding his arms. "Begin."
"Wait, what? Now?" Zac yelped. "I'm not ready! I haven't even had coff-"
The imps didn't wait for him to finish. With a chorus of shrieks that sounded like tearing metal, they swarmed.
Zac reacted on instinct, contorting his body in a panicked twist as the first imp launched itself at his face, claws extended. He felt the wind of its passage against his cheek. He scrambled backward, his boots slipping on the packed earth.
"Run!" his brain screamed, but the message felt muted, distant. Without the spike of adrenaline, without the hammering heart of true terror, his limbs felt heavy and sluggish, like he was moving through water. He dodged another diving red blur, stumbling over his own feet.
He ran in a frantic circle, his mind racing faster than his body. Lies. I need a lie. What kind of lie stops a feeding frenzy?
'Hey look, behind you!' No, too cliché.
'I have a bomb!' Imps probably liked explosions.
'Your shoelace is untied!' They didn't have shoes. Or feet, really, just claws.
It all seemed pointless. He ducked under a swinging claw, felt a sharp sting on his shoulder as another raked his arm. He tripped over a loose stone and went down hard, the breath knocked out of him. He rolled onto his back just as the swarm descended, a wall of weeping sores and gnashing teeth.
He threw his hands up to cover his face, bracing for the pain.
"WHY ARE YOU ATTACKING ME?!" he screamed, desperation forcing the words out. "MARCHOSIAS SAID YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO GET ME BREAKFAST!"
As the words left his mouth, a strange sensation washed over him. It wasn't just sound. His tongue felt heavy and cold, coated in a layer of absolute, numbing ice. The air in front of his face seemed to ripple.
The effect was instantaneous.
The lead imp, mid-leap, froze in mid-air as if it had hit an invisible wall, crashing to the ground in a confused heap. The others skidded to a halt, their claws inches from Zac's skin. They looked at Zac, then at each other, their beady eyes blinking in confusion.
"Breakfast?" one imp croaked, its voice like grinding stones.
"Captain said?" another squeaked, looking nervously toward Marchosias.
"I thought we were eating him for breakfast!" a third argued, poking Zac in the ribs.
"No, you idiot!" the first imp smacked the third. "He said get him breakfast! We're late! The Captain will skin us!"
Within seconds, the bloodthirsty mob had devolved into a bickering committee about what kind of breakfast a human avatar eats and who was responsible for the delay. They completely ignored the human lying on the ground beneath them.
Zac lowered his hands, blinked, and slowly scrambled to his feet. The imps were now in a heated debate, shoving each other and gesturing wildly.
"Yeah!" Zac added, pointing a finger at the group for good measure. "And make sure the coffee is hot! Chop chop!"
He turned and marched back toward Marchosias and Bune, a triumphant grin plastered on his face. Behind him, the squabbling intensified.
"What is 'cov-fee'?" one imp shrieked.
"Is it a type of blood? I bet it's blood."
"Idiot! It's a bean! I saw a warlock eat one once!"
Marchosias stood with one hand covering his face, slowly shaking his head. It was the universal gesture of a commander wondering where it all went wrong. Bune was already striding past Zac, shooing the imps away with frantic waves of his hands.
"Get out! Out!" the Left Head shouted. "You are absolutely not allowed in the kitchens! You'll contaminate the soul-soufflé!"
"Dismissed! Go eat a rock or something!" the Right Head added.
Zac came to a stop next to the Captain, feeling pretty pleased with himself. He dusted off his knees. "Wow. I guess my magic is actually kinda good, isn't it? Did you see that? Total mind control."
Marchosias lowered his hand and fixed Zac with a withering side-eye. "I saw you panic, trip over your own feet, and scream about breakfast."
"But it worked!"
"It worked on imps," Marchosias growled.
"I mean… you choose them," Zac muttered, though his grin faltered slightly.
Marchosias sighed, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. "It was clumsy. Crude. But… effective. The deception held." He looked at Zac, his expression unreadable. "It is a start."
"Great," Zac said, brightening immediately. He tugged at the waistband of his stolen, scavenged trousers, which were currently riding up in a way that threatened his ability to ever have children. He looked up at the bearded wolf, putting on his best 'damsel in distress' face. "So, that was basically a battle, right? I survived. Mission accomplished. Now, can we please get me some different pants? These are actively trying to castrate me, and I'd like to keep my options open for the future."
Marchosias looked down at him, his gaze lingering for a fraction of a second too long on the tight leather. He cleared his throat and turned toward the keep. "Bune. Take him to the quartermaster. Get him something that fits. And burn those rags."
"With pleasure, sir," Bune called back.
"And make it fast," Marchosias added over his shoulder as he walked away. "We ride in an hour."
Bune led Zac back into the cool, dark interior of the keep. The butler was muttering a rapid-fire litany of complaints, a duet of dissatisfaction.
"-inventory counts are off in the west armory," the Left Head grumbled.
"-and the audacity of that owl," the Right Head hissed. "Starting a brawl in the foyer! Who does he think cleans up the blood? The magical cleaning fairies? No! It's the magical cleaning demons, and they charge double for hazard pay!"
Zac followed happily, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was high on the thrill of his magical victory and distracted by a new, fascinating line of thought regarding the dragon walking in front of him. 'Two heads,' he mused, staring at the back of Bune's necks. 'Think of the efficiency. One could be kissing you deep and slow, while the other… licked his… ear. Yeah. Definitely his ear.' He suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. 'Hell really is the land of opportunity.'
They climbed the grand staircase, passing the now-repaired doors to Marchosias's office. The Captain's influence was clearly efficient; there wasn't even a scratch to show for yesterday's chaos. Bune led him down a side corridor and stopped abruptly in front of a simple wooden door.
"This is the room the maids prepared for you last night," the Left Head said, gesturing with a claw. "It is modest, but functional. Do try not to stain anything."
Zac stepped inside. It was indeed modest, a narrow bed with grey sheets, a heavy wooden bureau, and a single, slit window overlooking the chasm. On the bed lay a neat stack of folded black fabric.
"There are fresh clothes," the Right Head said. "Change quickly. The Captain hates to be kept waiting."
Zac closed the door and practically ripped off the scavenged leathers. Peeling away the stiff, foul-smelling layers felt like shedding a second, grosser skin. He pulled on the clothes Bune had provided. They were simple black robes, woven from a soft, heavy material that felt like silk but was warm as wool.
"Oh, thank god," Zac sighed, doing a little twirl. The robes were loose, flowing, and most importantly, had no waistband to dig into his hips. He grinned, running his hands down the front. 'Easy access,' he thought wickedly. 'I can just bunch these up in the front the next time I see Nock. That lion man could do such crazy things to me…'
He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, the silence of the room pressing in. He tried to take stock of his existence. Dead. Reincarnated. In Hell. Surrounded by hot demons. About to go to war. It was a lot.