They emerged into large, sunken chamber, its floor a bed of live coals. Once again the air shimmered here, superheated, and then the large coals stirred as a shape emerged from below.
A fiend arose, coals and sparks greeting her appearance, to tower over them. Her upper torso was humanoid, though her head was crowned by huge, ridged horns, and spikes burst forth in a profusion from her shoulders and elbows. But from the navel down she was a massive and segmented snake, thicker around each coil than Scorio could have wrapped his arms, and he couldn’t begin to guess how much of her remained hidden beneath the coals.
She was stunning to behold. Though she moved with liquid fluidity, her body was composed of exquisitely crafted plates of black armor, gorgeously contoured to mimic a human body, and massively plated to form her serpentine lower half. Bright orange and yellow light outlined each groove and overlapping plate, and burned brightly in faint striations across her body, limning her abdominal wall, the muscles of her shoulders and chest, and six holes between her neck and sternum that led straight into her molten core.
Her hair hung in great, flowing masses of blackest stone, their tips lightening to molten red, and her eye were but holes in her mobile faceplate, each so bright that they revealed a blazing white interior. A vertical groove had been incised in each lower lid and down her cheek, and these burned brightly, as if permanent tear trails had ruined her peerless visage.
Scorio took a step back, overawed. She rose before them, radiating power and authority, every line of her armored form imperial and savagely beautiful.
“Bravurn,” she said, her voice a hollow whisper, metallic and strangely hoarse. “You have brought guests.”
“Queen Xandera, meet Flame Vaults Scorio and Naomi.” The Iron Tyrant gestured to them both. “I am introducing them to the realities of hell, and my influence upon it. Could you relate to them how you have fared under my rule?”
“You have been a master most kind,” said the queen without hesitation. “Fair and true to your word. You could have slain me and all my people, but instead you have allowed us to live in exchange for our service. We are forever grateful.”
Naomi’s expression flickered between hopeless awe and silent snarls, as if she were unable to master herself in the face of this divinity. “Why don’t you strike him down now?”
The ebon lips curled into a smile, the seam between them glowing bright. “I must admit that at first I dreamed of such foolishness. But that time is passed. Freedom would mean our destruction, for my kind no longer has the power to resist the Gurlocks. It would take me too long to give birth to sufficient Titans and Bishops, and in that time we would perish.” She inclined her horned head to the Iron Tyrant. “Far better to serve a fair master so that all may prosper.”
“Thank you, Queen Xandera,” said the Iron Tyrant. “We appreciate your time.”
“But of course,” whispered the queen, sinking back into her lake of livid coals. “My time is yours to command.”
The coals rippled, roiled, then closed over her head as she disappeared from view.
Scorio stared, shaken, then blinked as the Iron Tyrant smiled and gestured. “Our tour is almost over. If you will follow me.”
Numbly, he followed the Iron Tyrant out through a different exit, turning only once to glance back at the coals, and then they emerged into another royally adorned hallway. Down this swept the Iron Tyrant, his stride purposeful, and then into a different suite of chambers that were clearly his place of business.
The air grew cooler, though Scorio couldn’t figure out why, and after the endless series of starkly decorated chambers he was surprised to see so much fine furniture. A massive desk, heavy wooden shelving laden with books, scrolls, and curios, a set of four armchairs facing each other in a corner, and wooden doors leading deeper into the Iron Tyrant’s suite.
“Be seated,” said the Iron Tyrant, moving to the armchairs and claiming the one whose back was pressed into the corner.
Scorio forced his mind to begin working once more. He sat gingerly, Naomi barely alighting on the edge of her own seat.
“Our tour is complete.” The Iron Tyrant steepled his fingers. “I trust that I have impressed my mastery of all that I have applied myself to. The Fiery Shoals were a model of beneficial commerce for all involved until your attack upon The Celestial Coffer, and even after that I was able to negotiate suitable terms with Praximar. Even now my efforts fuel the war against the Blood Ox, providing crucial Gold mana to the brave warriors who seek to defeat our foe. I conquered the blazeborns, and in so doing civilized the Iron Weald so that it can now act as a safe zone from which our forces can strike at the Telurian Band. Be assured that without my conquest, the blazeborns would take advantage of our predicament to act as the anvil upon which the Blood Ox could bring down his hammer. But I was wise enough to show mercy; where I could have slaughtered all, I instead culled the fiends and brought them to heel. One day, perhaps, we Great Souls shall no longer have need of the Fury Spires, and then I will gladly return this hive to Xandera for her to do with as she wishes.”
“She said the Gurlocks would slaughter them,” said Naomi, tone flat.
“Not my concern, to be honest.” The Iron Tyrant smiled. “I am here to further our priorities, not act as an arbiter between warring fiends.”
Scorio didn’t know what to say. He stared at the Blood Baron.
The Iron Tyrant continued, his tone inexorable. “The reason I have insisted upon this tour is to make a simple point. I am a man who commands loyalty by means of simple expediency. Those who sign up for the Iron Vanguard are rewarded with Gold mana. Historically, those who have supported my ventures have been rewarded with positions of influence in the Fiery Shoals, or here in the Fury Spires. Soon the war in the Telurian Band will come to its climax. It cannot persist as it has done. I do not intend to remain at the Fury Spires for much longer, and when I quit this place, I shall lose all interest in that which I have created. Instead, I will sojourn deeper into hell, and those with a desire to take part in my next successful venture would do well to support my future initiatives. All those who have opposed me have suffered greatly for it, even if, ultimately, they have sought clemency by bending knee.”
Scorio leaned forward. “That sounds very much like a threat.”
The Iron Tyrant smiled. “Because it could very well be. I can tell you and Naomi dislike me. That is fine. I have no need to be liked. But what I hope is that you are intelligent enough to recognize that a track record of success like mine does not occur by accident.”
Now it was the Iron Tyrant’s turn to lean forward. “Every single man, woman, and fiend that has opposed me I have broken. At best, they mouth platitudes like Xandera, at worst they molder in the ground. Hell is full of fools, Scorio. Power does not reward intelligence, merely ambition, and those who rise to the greatest heights often do so to the detriment of us all. I remind you of the Cerulean Prophecy as a prime example of what happens when power is married with idiocy.”
“You’re calling the Imperators idiots?” asked Naomi, sounding impressed despite herself.
“They’ve squandered our best hope of defeating the Pit in glorious fashion,” said the Iron Tyrant, leaning back. “I doubt they are bursting with pride over that debacle.”
Scorio tongued the inside of his cheek and nodded. “Alright. We’ve heard your case. What do you want from us?”
“It’s obvious. The time will soon come when all Great Souls in the Iron Weald and Telurian Band will have to choose the path they wish to walk. When that time comes, remember what I have said here, and ask yourselves: do you wish to make an impassioned decision based on emotion and vainglorious desire, or a wise one, based on pragmaticism and the cold calculation on what needs to be done to win?”