Clutch led Marcella along a twisting and narrow path; a series of just barely attached rock islands among the twisting river of magma.

"Are we going to have to go far?" Marcella asked.

The demon's weight dropped and he slouched under his dragonfly wings. "Far and quiet! You can't draw attention to yourself in this place, you got that? You think I was joking when I said the spooks down here would do anything to get their hands on you?"

"Why do they want me?"

"To break you."

"What?"

"Mentally speaking, anyway. Everything in the underworld is an illusion, if you manage to maintain purpose in that illusion, the magic is broken. Those who break through the illusion are highly sought after for the arena."

"The arena?"

"Where the strongest wills meet in combat. Pure demon on mortal insanity, my friend. Best thrills around if you ask me, or any demon with a sense of fun anyway."

"It sounds terrible."

"And you sound like a pathetic, bleeding heart mortal."

"I'd rather have a bleeding heart than no heart at all."

"Hey, I gotta heart, it just ain't in the same place as you silly mortals. What kind of pathetic creature keeps their heart in their chest?"

"Um . . . nearly every living creature?"

"And that's the problem, isn't it? 'Living' creature. You up realmers always tote that ridiculous argument, like possessing life is a prerequisite for the right to exist."

"What?"

"Condemning us demons to this dark and dreary place. Maybe if you let us see the sun every once in a while we wouldn't have so much fun torturing you every time we get the chance!"

"We condemned you?"

"Eons ago."

"Well then clearly I had nothing to do with that."

"Maybe not, but you're all the same."

As they turned a corner Marcella was shocked to see a side of the underworld she never could have imagined. A bustling hub of demons of all sizes, streets lined with ratty retail stalls and market stands selling grotesque looking relics.

"Stay here, uprealmer." Clutch turned on Marcella and she nodded, not looking forward to getting anywhere near the frightening creatures. She backed into the shadows of a rocky ledge and hoped she wouldn't be seen. It seemed like hours before she saw a ragged cloak flying through the air towards her. As it drew closer, she noticed Clutch struggling to hold the thing aloft as his wings worked overtime.

He dropped the cloak a couple feet from Marcella and struggled to breathe. "Put that on."

"Why?"

"Uprealmers can't just waltz through the market, you'd get grabbed up and sold off in a heart beat." He tapped his oversized and bulging skull.

Marcella hung the cloak over her shoulders and raised the hood to cover her head.

"Good, good, now hunch your shoulders. Yeah, that's it. Now, put your hair over your face . . ." The demon thought for a second, then dove towards the stream of magma. He gathered some in his hands, entirely unfazed by the heat.

The liquid rock cooled and Clutch crumbled it into ash. He flew towards Marcella's face and smeared the ash on her hair and cheeks.

"Now, say something."

"Like what?"

"Deeper, raspier."

"You mean like this?"

"Not so forced, damn it!"

"How's this?" Marcella's throat felt like it was tearing with the force of her demon voice, and Clutch clapped his hands.

"You might pull this off, uprealmer."

"Where are we going anyway?"

"In character, please!"

Marcella rolled her eyes, then repeated herself in her under cover tone.

"Rowena Louge isn't just any ordinary uprealmer. She's the god of magic, her mortal soul is highly coveted in the underworld."

"She's a god? Yeah right." Marcella chuckled and shook her head. "Gods don't die."

"When they exist on a mortal plane they do, and it's not easy to keep them under control when they get here. Takes a strong demon to get the job done."

"Strong?"

"Oh yes!" Clutch gestured off into the distance and Marcella saw a rotting, crumbling, ruin of a palace situated above the market on a black cliff. "We're going to see Tur'ah Kalnan. If your grandmother ain't there, now chance in hell she's still kicking around underside."

"Tur'ah Kalnan?"

"King of the dead? Totem of Illusion? The Black God?" Clutch buzzed around like an enraged bee as he listed aliases. "I know they teach you nothing of the end game in the uprealms, but you really don't even know the name of your future master?"

Marcella gulped and shuddered. She tried to speak but her words were lost. She thought of Silva and Grelchin and Lemuria and wished she was still there in that place she'd assumed was dead. Compared to what little she now knew of the underworld, it seemed like Lemuria was a thriving paradise.

"You up for it, uprealmer?"

"How . . . how would we get her out of there?"

"I only promised to help you find her, not free her."

"Okay, fine, just bring me to the castle and I'll figure it out on my own from there." Marcella shook her head and followed after Clutch as he flitted away through the busy marketplace.

---

High above the bustling population of the underworld, Tur'ah Kalnan stood by a tall window, peering down at the masses. His own height seemed enhanced by that of the window, his narrow frame flowed like thick black smoke to the ground and billowed about the room. His molten rock head extended even higher, forming a crown out of his skull which twisted with miniature rivulets of lava and pulsed with gray veins.

The rocky fingers of his right hand played against the window sill as he heard the iron door behind him creak open.

"She's here." The demon king's lips curled as his words dripped like ooze.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Marcella." The name was like poison in the air, drawn out like the hiss of a monstrous snake.

The stranger who had entered the room remained silent for a moment. "You know that for sure?"

"ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY AUTHORITY?" The king extended higher, the clouds of smoke which supported him plumed out to fill the room and fire erupted from the cracks in his molten face.

"No, sir."

"Prepare for the girl's arrival!" His voice was now at a higher pitch than before, it shook the walls and threatened to shatter the glass pane of the window.

"Yes, sir." The stranger bowed and backed out of the room.

Tur'ah Kalnan then turned to his view of the market stalls, his smokey tendrils shrunk back and his face became solid again as he drummed his fingers gently against the window frame.