Each island led to another, and there was little the Ebon Blade could do besides travel in straight lines between them, so that it did not lose its way. Sometimes, when there was abundant prey around, it would burn through significant power just to speed up the interminable trek, but other times, when it descended into the lonely depths, it would proceed slowly and methodically should the worst befall it.

Still, as weeks blurred into months, it grew to despair, at least a little, though it tried to resist those feelings since the weapon suspected they had more to do with the water it was submerged in than its own soul. It was hard not to, though, when each island merely led to another, further along in the chain. Most were so small that it could take in their contents in an instant. Others were large enough that it had to walk from one end to the other to decide which way to proceed.

Sometimes it worried it might never find the way out of this place. Why are some circles so small and others so large? The blade asked itself time and again. It might have asked one of the demon princes, but it was not yet desperate enough to waste those malignant souls. So, it continued on.

Eventually, after weeks of travel, the islands started to get regularly larger, but even before that, it noted that the weave of the world was starting to glow with more power. It knew it was getting closer to its destination. Then, it finally saw it in the distance. It had seen many islands up until now, but none of them were wreathed in smoke or had mountains, and it knew that it was almost there.

That final crossing was shallow and uneventful, and as it came up from the frothing surf one final time, standing like a breaker against the violent waves, the blade looked upon the jungle in front of it, and it was certain it had crossed the threshold to the next circle of hell. It was just as Prince Cerirvall had described it. There was an endless jungle, and then, beyond it, there was a volcano that reached above the clouds, illuminating them with its fiery fury.

The Island of Pathos, ruled by the Bug Queen, it thought, remembering the Prince's words. It doesn't seem very large.

Soon I shall be free of this place, it decided as it marched directly into the woods. It feared neither insects nor disease, and if another demon princess dared to show her face, it would slice her in two without hesitation.

That wasn't foolhardiness, of course. With any luck, it would find someone to question about her powers, but even so, this domain seemed a poor match for it.

As it stood there contemplating all of this, a damned soul washed up from the surf and staggered ashore. It looked at the blade's wielder, then recoiled in horror, and started running toward the treeline.

The Ebon Blade thought about consuming it or even questioning it, but decided against it. The soul had obviously just come to this place, so it wasn't likely to know more than it did. Instead, it watched, waiting to see how the new environment treated it.

In the badlands at the edge of hell the souls had wandered until they'd been devoured by demons; in the iron city they'd been put to work either as industrial slaves or as raw materials, and in the Sea of Despair they drifted until they were little more than the dregs of sadness, but it had no idea what would happen to them here.

So, it watched, and when the damned soul disappeared into the foliage, the blade followed. Not too closely, of course, but still near enough that it would see what cruel fate awaited the spirit. It didn't have to wait long.

The fearful, translucent soul was only fifty feet into the foliage when it lashed out and attacked him. It wasn't a demon hiding amongst the trees, either; it was one of the trees itself. When the nameless man tried to press through a curtain of vines to escape the Ebon Blade's steel-clad wielder, they coiled around him and lifted him off his feet into the air.

The ghost screamed silently as that happened, but the Ebon Blade made no attempt to save him. Instead, it cast its gaze throughout the area, studying the weave of the attacking vines as well as the rest of the trees. Now that it knew what hazard it was looking for, it was easy to spot more danger, though it did not feel particularly threatened by any of it.

Just as it was in the swamp, many, but not all of the trees were demonic entities in disguise. Other than that, though, there seemed to be only insects and victims. The Ebon Blade did not see any large animals. It expected that there would be some, but there were none.

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That's not what interested it now, though. Instead of searching for them or even studying the demons, it focused on the damned souls and what the demons had done to them. That was the most interesting part of the jungle, because now that it was looking, those pitiful spirits had not been entirely devoured. Instead, they were embedded in tree trunks or hung in the canopy, half consumed, like the luminescent dregs it had seen swirling in the ocean currents.

The Ebon Blade thought that those had been tormented souls, but these were in even worse shape. They'd been twisted and pierced with tendrils and roots, and many of them had become hives for insects, no matter what the damned had been repurposed into, though, all of them were putrified and disgusting. Though it did not disturb the blade's jaded sensibilities, even it could see that anyone who became trapped here was destined to become an organic horror show filled with rot, boils, rashes, and any number of other horrors.

I think I'd prefer to lose myself in the Sea of Dispair, it decided as it started walking inland.

As it moved forward, the blade faced no opposition. Clouds of biting flies assaulted it in vain, and some of the plants reached for it, seeking to do what they had with all the other spirits that came within arm's reach, but none of these attacks could do anything to the metal that both it and its wielder were crafted from.

If I had a wielder of flesh and blood, this would be a truly miserable place, the blade noted. Though if I had a mortal wielder, they would have drowned long ago.

At first, the fact that no one opposed it made the blade more anxious than complacent. It kept waiting for something to spring out and ambush it, but that never happened. There were no sneak attacks or traps to speak of except for the ineffectual plants, which it grew tired of even slashing after a while.

However, when the blade still hadn't reached the volcano, a day later, it started to grow suspicious. It felled several trees to create a clearing large enough to see the mountain, and confirm it was traveling in the right direction, but such efforts didn't seem to shorten its path; all they did was confirm that dark blood flowed through the demon plants instead of something more appropriate like sap.

When it reached the shore once more, rather than the volcano, the blade was not entirely surprised. This place was no threat to it, so clearly it needed to misdirect it.

The Ebon Blade set out a second time, this time cleaving trees every few minutes as it went to check its positions. This slowed whatever process was leading it astray, but almost two days later, it still showed up on another strange beach rather than reaching its intended destination. Worse, its wielder was starting to rust.

As bad as getting lost was in this place, though, the deleterious effects that it was having on its metal wielder were far worse. In the seventh circle, the mud and roots of that place had gummed up its joints to some degree, but this was much worse. Whole sections of the strange clockwork man were beginning to rust and fail, and there was no obvious solution.

This is no doubt because I spent months in that infernal ocean, it told itself. Water and steel are natural enemies.

As much as it wanted to believe that, though, it was unsure. Especially when strange fluids started leaking from the places that were the worst affected. It looked almost like a rash, or a disease, and given the fact that the parts of its armor that most often touched the foliage were in the worst shape, rather than the core of the metal man where water would linger, it made the blade suspicious.

Still, other than attempting to try again, the blade did nothing about it. It was far more concerned about leaving this place than the effects it was having on it. It wasn't until it somehow got turned around and reached the beach for the third time that its frustration finally boiled over.

I can see the damn volcano half the time. How could I possibly get lost? The weapon roared internally. Is the forest moving around me? Is the island itself?

Then, the blade let loose, waving itself in a wide arc as it let loose dangerous amounts of Hellfire, setting the jungle before it ablaze and filling it with a firestorm that spewed oily smoke and poisonous fumes. That didn't help it figure out which way was the correct way forward, but it did buy it some breathing room.

As it did so, it noticed the rusting sores and the weeping pustulent metal on the armor of its wielder burned away as well. Even the stiff joints that had started to slow during certain motions resolved themselves as the fiery aura that surrounded it burned away the defective metal, and it was healed anew.

I'll burn every tree between here and the volcano if that's what it takes, the weapon silently promised.

Fortunately, it had fire to spare. Though it didn't like to use it on its own wielder, because it lost Life Force healing the damage, it was still an effective technique that would purify any problems the strange foliage managed to inflict on it. So, the further into the jungle the blade went, the more it used its fire to clear a wide swath.

It was done playing around; it didn't care about the queen or princess or whoever ruled this circle. It just wanted to get past it and to the fiery mountain that lay beyond. That was where the ruler of this foul pit awaited it, and it was where it would find the exit back to the light and life of the mortal realms above.

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