At first, the blade thought that it had returned to the throne room, because the room was so similar. Besides the huge tables and the fact that the lavishly dressed demons were sitting at them instead of crowding into the galleries at the back of the room, only the lack of the throne and the fountain differentiated the place it stood now from the place it had stood earlier.

The blade was announced with much fanfare as it entered, though few noticed. While the demons might have dressed as lords and ladies, they ate like animals, and as long as there was food in front of them, they didn't notice anything else.

The blade walked by the fearful servants and bloody feast as it made its way to the high table, and no one, not even the crimson-skinned guards who stood there, attempted to oppose it. It was fairly certain that shiny as it was, few people even noticed it; the place was a madhouse. In the throne room, the demons had stood silently behind a civilized veneer, but here that mask had come off so that they could shove more food into their hungry mouths.

Prince Cerirvall noticed it, though. However much he might pretend to focus on the conversation he was currently engaged in with the hawk-beaked demon to his left, his lazy, lackadaisical eyes tracked the Ebon Blade throughout the room, and when it reached the table, the man gave a mocking bow and insisted that the weapon's wielder sit at his right hand.

"No, please," he insisted, taking one of the knight's hands in both of his as the blade's metal wielder came around the table. "You must sit here, you are the guest of honor!"

The blade didn't argue with that. That put its hilt as far from his reach as possible, which would minimize the chances of the most dangerous sorts of subterfuge they could get up to. Let them go after my body if they like, the blade repeated to itself as it sat down. They know nothing of my strengths and weaknesses.

The Demon Prince tried to get the blade to eat and drink, but of course, it needed nothing that was on offer and declined. Even after it explained that it needed no sustenance and was powered by arcane devices, the man still seemed disappointed. Nonetheless, he soon changed the topic to the deaths of his peers.

"I would not have believed it if I could not sense their souls in you," he said, "To think that you have killed not one, but several demon princes. I must hear every detail of those glorious deaths!"

The blade demurred and tried to return to the topic of what lay ahead, but the prince insisted that he hear at least something of Princess Rizzeldah before he spoke of the later circles, so the blade told him the short version of the story.

At least it meant to tell the short version, but as it started telling, it became ever more involved and detailed. The blade didn't think it was some magic power that was being used against it, or anything. It was the thrill of battle that got to it. Not since its time with the orcs had it listened to the tales of battle being told around campfires for audiences, and somehow, a spark of that was captured by explaining to the prince exactly how he'd done in the Hag.

It went back and forth about it, telling itself that the prince's enthusiasm was feigned, but that would have been difficult. He obviously took real pleasure in the sixth princess's defeat, and in the end, the most the blade could do was hide the nature of some of its powers, like lightning and poison.

Afterwards, the Ebon Blade was tempted to start telling him of the battle of Iron City, but it resisted and said, "Now tell me of the way ahead."

"Of course," Prince Cerirvall answered as the eleventh course was brought to the table. "Ahead of you, the way is not so complicated. The gateway to the ocean of Dispair is right there, in my throne room, but you might find that place difficult because of your weight. However, when you reach the island of Pathos, you'll be fine. I expect you'll be grateful for your metal form then."

"Pathos?" the blade asked. It had heard the name before, but it knew nothing of it.

"Well, that island is bigger than it looks, you see. It's only the shores of the center of hell. You still loiter here, at the edges of the place, but beyond its jungles you'll find three more rings as you go toward the heart of the volcano where the prime evil waits for you."

"Why would a lack of flesh help you in a jungle?" the blade asked, doing its best to stay calm and polite despite the fact that its host was obviously teasing it with half answers. What it needed to know was what lay ahead, who it would face, and how it would defeat them, but instead, what it got was tantalizing generalities.

Still, it forced the issue. It would not be talked down to, not when the deaths of everyone at that table and even in the room were in easy reach; the demon prince seemed to have charm as his only weapon, and that would not work on the weapon forever.

It took some effort, forcing the blade to return to the topic time and time again as his host strayed, given the slightest chance, but eventually it got many of the answers that it sought. The jungles, it turned out, were alive with insects and disease, neither of which should affect it.

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"No man can swim across the endless sea of despair, but even if they could, all they would do is suffer endlessly in those jungles before becoming part of the Bug Queen's banquet," he said, gesturing to the food as if anything he'd said about maggots or open sores was appetizing in the least.

Still, the blade did not eat and ignored its host's attempts at vile humor, pressing instead for details about his next foe. "She fights with poison and camouflage, but you will not be able to find her, so don't even try. Her lands are too vast and shadowy. Let her find you instead, and hope you survive the experience."

The blade's metal wielder nodded at that, but it said nothing. There was no need to reveal the limits of its perception to this man. Instead, it pressed on, asking questions of the other lands that lay ahead after that, though on some questions the prince pleaded ignorance. It would seem that not even his knowledge was infinite, though the blade thought that it was holding some things back.

Past the jungle, though, lay a city, and in that city, the Last City, which was ruled over by the Penitent. He shepherded all the souls that made it that far until their time had come to climb the mountain. The mountain itself was so tall that it was three separate circles of hell. It was three separate circles of hell, which were ruled over by the Beast King, the Vulture Queen, and, of course, the Prime Evil, at the heart of her volcano of boiling blood.

When the blade tried to inquire about any of them, the prince played coy and instead offered a trade. "I can feel the souls of my fellow princes on you, but you've done nothing with them," he said during the third dessert course. "Give me one, preferably the wretched Hag's, and I will answer any question you'd ever want to know."

Or I could kill you and demand the answer from your soul, the blade thought before quickly suppressing the urge. Rather than lash out, it asked, "If I gave you her soul, what would you do with it?"

The demon prince shrugged. "Oh, I don't want any of her foul powers, if that's what you're thinking. I want to fashion her into a murky gem and wear her on my crown forevermore so she can see what real luxury is like."

The blade nodded. Powers? For now, it didn't ask the question. Instead, it promised to think on it and tried to return to the topic at hand, but Prince Cerirvall rebuffed it.

"Enough talking!" the prince insisted, standing suddenly as his final plate cleared and his most recent goblet emptied. "First, the ball, and then we can talk more if you like."

"I do not dance any more than I eat," the blade answered with a tone of annoyance. "You need not hold a ball in my honor."

"We hold a ball every night, regardless of the reason!" the prince said with gusto as the room began to clear and people moved downstairs. The blade followed and found that they'd returned to the throne room, presenting it with the option of just leaving through the pool toward the next circle, and being done with this farce.

It considered doing that, strongly, but instead it stood there, watching the demons clumsily emulate the complicated rounds and circle dancing of human courts. It was no expert in such things, and it ignored the whirls and the curtsies in favor of studying the monstrous features of the well-dressed demons, and deciding the best way to kill them should the need arise.

Eventually, when its host stopped for a break, the blade pressed him again for more answers. "Well, not now, of course. Perhaps after… Oh, but that would cut into the orgy… Then—" the prince explained excitedly.

The blade's wielder shook its head, but before it could answer, the prince interrupted himself to say, "I know, you do not require such things either, but we can't possibly discuss our alliance until it has concluded. Perhaps tomorrow, after breakfast, but before mid-morning croquette, we might find the time to discuss the Leviathan, or was it the Behemoth? It's hard to say who rules over the Oceans of Despair at any given point. It turns out there really is always a bigger fish."

"I would rather get to killing again," the blade confessed, tired of these games. "I think that I should take my leave."

"Then join me," the prince said, more forcefully than before as he made a sweeping gesture toward the pool. "Join me. With my knowledge and your strength, we could conquer all of hell together."

"We need have no quarrel," the weapon said, "But we need have no alliance either. I have had enough of your hospitality, but must now be on my way."

As it turned to leave, the prince pursed his lips and shook his head. The weapon's wielder had already turned to the pool that was the portal to the next circle, but it could still see the man, and even before he spoke, the blade began to tense. "No, I'm afraid that's not going to work for me," he said.

"Without fealty, I cannot allow you to pass any further, you see," the effeminate man continued. "The farther you advance, the stronger you become, and if you were to slay the prime evil, well… even I would have trouble beating you, wouldn't I. So I need your loyalty before you'll be allowed to proceed."

The blade bristled at the statement as it turned back to face the demon. It knelt to no one. Even its relationship with its wielders was not one of submission. At most, it was cooperation. It was not made to serve, and as it considered that the anger rebounded through it, growing in power.

It stood there still for several seconds, then lashed out with a lightning-quick strike intended to split the prince in two, from head to crotch, even before the wave of green hellfire it had summoned into existence appeared to char the pieces.

-20 Life Force.

The blow was fueled by rage, but even though it should have struck clean through, it felt the miss immediately, and when the flames cleared, it confirmed that the prince was still there, not even scorched. He hadn't parried or dodged. He'd simply stood there, while the blade failed to strike its target, which was unthinkable.

The prince smiled calmly then, like he hadn't just faced down death and said, "You'll find that here I am the master, not you. That leaves you only two choices: serve, or stay."

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