Gentleman's Deal

"The Godfather wants to meet you."

Tristan didn't even look at Morrigan's hand. The damage he caused was heavy enough to anchor him to his bed.

"Damn trash. Why didn't you just, die..."

Morrigan sighed as she watched him tighten the grip on his sheets.

"I'll be back later. If you're angry, do something about it. If you wanted revenge, you need to walk it yourself."

As Morrigan turned, Tristan grabbed her wrist. Firm, and resolute.

"I'll go."

Morrigan nodded after a beat. "Then let's go. He's been waiting," she said as she fixed her coat.

---

Tristan and Morrigan's footsteps echoed down the empty alley as they strode. The walls didn't look any different from old castles in the human world: bricks, antique candleholders, pillars, and marble statues. Horned armors and weapons, around eight to nine feet tall, stood in display at every corner, emanating a living aura that looked like they could spring to life at any moment.

Tristan winced at every step. He could still feel the sting all over him: the cuts Velgrand gave him throbbed.

But something's amiss. Tristan was sure Velgrand pierced his vital spots. 

It happened again, like before when he found that the bullet wound on his head was gone.

He remembered his labored breath after Velgrand stabbed his lung. Then, his strength decreased. He knew his body struggled to stay conscious, but he was amused that he was still alive.

Divine intervention? Lady luck? He wasn't sure. 

Captive or a pawn, at least, for now, he's alive.

But what would the Godfather want from a loser whose power and reputation were merely memories?

In front of him, Morrigan paused.

"We're here. This is his office," she said.  

As she pushed the door, a wave of chill washed over him. A shiver. For once, he forgot the pain of loss. His posture straightened, almost like a call to arms.

Morrigan and Tristan stepped inside.

At the end of that room, sat the most powerful demon in hell. Waiting.

Tristan's entire body numbed. The pressure of the Godfather's presence coiled around his chest like a python.

He walked past demons in suits, unbothered, but on guard to quash any intruder. As he approached the Godfather's table, he was gasping.

Tristan's vision swirled, and before he collapsed, a guard held his arm to keep him up. 

Appreciating the help, he pulled himself back to his feet.

"Welcome, child. Please pardon the urgency of this meeting."

The old demon's voice surprised Tristan. It was deep, but frail. Firm, but gentle.

"I understand your apprehension. It is unusual that a demon requests the presence of an Inquisitor."

"Former. I am a mere mortal now." Tristan answered.

The Godfather chuckled as he rose from his seat with a cane. Morrigan tried to assist him, but he held his hand up with a faint smile.

"Please have a seat. Would you like a drink, lad?"

The Godfather paused for a moment as he waited for an answer. When Tristan didn't respond, he proceeded to pour liquor into two glasses. He turned and slowly carried the drinks to his desk, then slid one towards Tristan.

"We have a custom. If a host asks a guest if he wants a drink and the latter accepts, they drink as equals. 

But if the latter didn't answer and the host still gives him a drink, the host is greatly honored by the guest's presence."

Tristan took the glass, eyes darting subtly between it and the demon who offered the drink. He lifted it and downed it immediately.

The Godfather takes a sip of his own drink, amused.

"There must be something bothering you. You can ask anything."

Tristan exhales, lifting the first weight off his chest.

"How's Lazarus?" he asked without hesitation.

The Godfather glanced at Morrigan, then sighed.

"I am sorry to hear about what happened to Saul and his group. While they are, indeed, under my wing, the scope of my power doesn't equal omnipotence."

He looked down at his glass and swirled it.

"I really wish the help I sent arrived on time."

Tristan looked down as his own guilt tugged at him.

"How was the old man? And the boys?"

Morrigan stepped forward. "Saul and Johann were safe, as well as many of the survivors. James is still in critical condition, but our physicians are keeping an eye on him around the clock."

While relieved about the safety of Saul and Johann, James' predicament clung to him like a stubborn nightmare.

Then, he remembered the demon. His heart raced, fire in his veins.

"Velgrand..."

The Godfather nodded as he saw something in Tristan's eyes.

"Velgrand had been a thorn to my side, but I didn't want him to grow bolder with recognition."

Besides, this is a dog-eat-dog society. So, Velgrand's actions, while unjustified and petty, were a part of the natural chaos of the times. Chivalry and codes of honor are obsolete, something those young punks knew nothing about."

The Godfather read through Tristan's silence.

"Vengeance trails betrayal like a shadow. The question is, how dark do you want that shadow to be?"

The air around Tristan suddenly shifted. The pain returned, pulsing with fury.

"In all honesty, you never stood a chance against Velgrand. Users of demon magic don't hold back and they're proud of that. But that will be their downfall."

The Godfather leaned forward for Tristan to hear the next words clearly.

"I'm sure you've wondered how you survived the mortal injuries Velgrand gave you," he said firmly. 

"There's something in you, Tristan Grandark. Something that I haven't seen for a very, very long time."

"A power that heaven can't bind, and hell can't let loose. Right now, you have the seed of it, waiting to burst. And before these old eyes close; before Death finally comes for my soul, like those before me, I want to see it. Feel it. I want heaven and hell to tremble on its knees, one last time."

Tristan's eyes went wide. His jaw clenched. He curled his fists until they were white.

Morrigan hands The Godfather the bottle of liquor. He, once again, pours into Tristan's glass.

"An accord. Your vengeance. My peace."

Tristan looked back into the old man's eyes, alive but damning. Halfway to taking the glass, a big part of him wants to expose the Godfather for the sly demon he could be.

And with determined eyes, he downed the liquor, slamming the glass on the table.

"No strings attached."

The Godfather raises his glass as a toast. "No strings attached."

He gulps the drink, sending him into a coughing fit. "Ah. Damn getting old."

Then, with unexpected strength, he rose and reached a hand out to Tristan.

"I'll see you in three days."

Tristan scoffed quietly and took The Godfather's hand, shaking it firmly.

"I will."

---

Three days later, Tristan stood before a massive gate, laden with dust and inscriptions that had kept it shut for millennia.

The Godfather stood straight on a cane as he chanted, lighting up the runes to undo their seals. The ground rumbled as it opened, and the void bled out of it.

"Before a seed springs to life, it must survive its own darkness."

The Godfather turns to Tristan.

"These gates will be your hourglass. If you fail this test or come out too late, the doors will seal your soul forever. I trust that your will is stronger than your doubts."

With a nod, Tristan stared straight into the abyss, striding forward. His feet were unsteady, and his hands cold. But with nothing to lose, his will is unshaken.

And as he disappeared into the maw, a gust blew against The Godfather and Morrigan.

"Do you think he'll make it?" He asked her.

"How many made it out?" Morrigan asked.

"None."

Morrigan scoffed. "If Grandark is as stupid as fighting Velgrand bare-handed, maybe."

The Godfather smirked. "He's a special case. I believe he will."

As he faced the open gates, he pulled his hat lower, jaw tight.

"You must return, Tristan Grandark."