Chapter 11
Devil's Due
A minor devil, reveling in its newfound freedom, has established a foothold in the mortal realm, peddling corrupting deals that prey on the desperate and the greedy. Bishop Dark is sent to put an end to its infernal enterprise. This isn't a battle of brute force, but a dangerous game of wits and wills. The devil offers damnation with a smile, and Bishop Dark must navigate its infernal contract, where the ultimate price for failure is an eternity in the abyss.
The stench of brimstone and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air, a cloying mix that made Bishop Dark’s teeth ache. He’d smelled worse, of course. The aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic demon summoning in a goblin’s basement had coated his nostrils with the aroma of burnt sinew and despair for a solid week. But this was different. This was the smell of *opportunity*, for someone else, anyway.
“A minor devil, you say?” Bishop Dark grunted, swirling the amber liquid in his flask. He was perched on a rain-slicked gargoyle overlooking a particularly grimy alleyway in the city’s underbelly. Below, a flickering gas lamp cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to writhe with a life of their own. “Peddling what? Infernal timeshares? Soul-crushing mortgages?”
Abbott Kale’s voice crackled through the enchanted communication stone nestled in Bishop’s palm. “More like infernal contracts, Bishop. This one calls himself Bartholomew. He’s preying on the desperate, the greedy, the ones who’ve already sold half their souls and are looking for a bargain on the rest.”
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