Apostles of Doom

“Does it strike anyone else that allowing a fallen avatar and the wife of an archdemon onboard might not be the best idea?” Sir Samwell asked. Of all of them, he seemed the least hungover.

“It has struck me so several times,” Heron said. “However, they were so pleasant and persuasive, I found it nearly impossible to disagree with them last night.”

“We do sort of owe Melissance something,” Sir Lady Serah said.

Gadius and Gaius both groaned, putting their heads in their hands at nearly the same time.

Barabus raised an eyebrow. “Her story was quite compelling. We truly did her wrong — Talarius in particular.”

Gadius sighed. “Reflecting back upon it, our reactions at the time do seem particularly mean-spirited, unjust and out of line with Tiernon’s own teachings. In retrospect, I am not sure why we were so certain she had chosen ghoulism.”

“And why have we never questioned it until now?” Gaius asked.

“So did you formally agree to their joining us?” Captain Cranshall asked, clearly not thrilled with the idea of having two such passengers.

“Only a short-term agreement to negotiate a contract detailing the rules of our engagement and cooperation,” Dante replied, his voice slightly muffled due to the fact that his head was resting in his arms on the table.

XO Stevensword moved suddenly, making room in the door for a member of the galley crew. “You may wish to raise your head — we have bacon, ham, eggs and toast arriving!” Stevensword said.

“Ugh… grease…” Sir Lady Serah groaned.

Oubliette: Early Fourth Period

“So how many more sessions are there?” Tom asked Phaestus as the others filed from the room.

Phaestus shrugged. “My lesson plans call for another five to six sessions, then we have practice sessions.”

“How are we going to practice?” Tom asked. “Do you know anyone who would want to volunteer for a stay in Tartarus?”

Phaestus chuckled. “In terms of our normal clientele, very few are so trusting.” He shook his head. “However, it is not necessarily unpleasant. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Tom tilted his head and looked questioningly at the god.

Phaestus smiled. “’The prisoners are all in suspended animation of some form, depending on their species. While there, they dream.”

Tom nodded; he knew this. “As is the case with Prometheus; he continuously dreams that an eagle is ripping his liver out while he is chained to a stone.”

“Exactly.” Phaestus nodded. “Most people assume that his punishment is literal, but that would be very boring for the eagle as well. Very few eagles are that vindictive. Actually, only Zeus in his eagle form is that vindictive, but even he has better things to do and would eventually give up. Thus the dream sequence.”

“It does seem efficient,” Tom agreed.

“It is. We can custom tailor the dreams to create the perfect agony or hell for the prisoner without having to have some demon or another creature saddled with doing it.”

“Of course, demons do love torture,” Tom pointed out.

“Yes, creative torture is something they tend to enjoy, but even so, it gets old over time, particularly if the punishment is particularly redundant and repetitive,” Phaestus said. “However, we can do other sorts of torture that are more subtle and disturbing.”

“Such as?” Tom asked.

“How about a glutton in a room full of delicious-looking cakes, pastries and cookies? He or she feels compelled to eat them, but finds them a bit dry. Ideally, one would dunk them in some milk or other liquid, but the container is perpetually empty,” Phaestus explained.

Tom frowned. “Pretty sure that was a TV commercial for the milk industry.”

Phaestus shrugged. “Who knows more about torture? Imagine being kept perpetually pregnant and lactating and attached to a milking machine three or four times a day?” Phaestus shuddered. “I’m a male, but I can sympathize for female animals in such a hell.”

Tom shook his head to clear it. “Back to the point of it not being necessarily bad. Do you mean that we can program pleasant dreams?”

“Indeed.” Phaestus nodded. “In fact, we were working on developing dream programs to sell to deities who wanted to reward followers — minions or others — with a few centuries of pleasure. That was interrupted, of course.”

Tom shook his head. “I get it, but it seems like a very odd product.”

Phaestus shrugged. “At some point, it’s all about killing eternity, isn’t it?”

“Killing eternity?” Tom asked, before suddenly remembering his conversation with Tamarin. “You mean immortal existential dread?”

Phaestus grinned. “Indeed. Being immortal is not necessarily easy.”

Tom shook his head. “So this place”—he gestured to their environment—“is about sixty thousand years old?”

Phaestus nodded. “Almost sixty-five thousand years since we began construction.”

“So when was Vosh An-Non, the first D’Orc, created?” Tom asked.

Phaestus inhaled, thinking. “I wasn’t there myself, but from what I was told, it was about four thousand years before we came up with the plans for Tartarus. Vosh was just over two thousand years old when I met him.”