AI The air tasted of cloying sweetness, like overripe figs and ancient wine. Rory coughed, the unexpected flavour coating her tongue, thick and almost sticky. One moment, the biting chill of a London alley still clung to her clothes, the next, a profound warmth permeated everything. Her boots, usually scuffing against damp pavement, now sank into something soft, like springy moss but with the texture of fine velvet .
Nyx stood motionless beside her, a deeper shadow against the unnatural amber sky, which pulsed with a soft, internal light. Their form, usually a shift between solid and incorporeal, now seemed to hold a greater, almost static presence. Isolde, a silver streak against the strange, glowing horizon, simply gazed ahead, her pale lavender eyes wide and unblinkable.
"Gluttony," Isolde whispered, her voice like chimes carried on a distant breeze. "Here, indulgence knows no bounds." She gestured with a slender hand towards the sprawling landscape.
Everywhere, flora exploded in riotous, impossible colour. Trees bore fruit like polished jewels, hanging heavy from branches that twisted with the grace of ancient dancers. Vines, thicker than a man's arm, woven with flowers that shimmered like captured starlight, snaked across the ground and up colossal, gnarled trunks. An intoxicating medley of scents, rich and unfamiliar, swirled in the heavy air—earthy truffle notes mingling with candied rose petals and something akin to spiced honey . Rory found her senses overwhelmed. Her hand instinctively went to the Heartstone Pendant at her throat. It pulsed, a faint thrumming against her skin, warmer than before.
"The portal," Rory muttered, her voice rough . Her eyes traversed the landscape, trying to make sense of the overwhelming beauty. It felt… predatory.
Nyx’s head tilted slightly, an almost imperceptible movement. "A vibrant consumption. Lifecycle, accelerated." Their voice, a mere whisper , seemed to cut through the oppressive sweetness.
They began to walk, their footsteps silenced by the cushiony ground. The soil beneath the moss was a rich, dark loam, smelling faintly of stirred earth and something else, something vital and a little unsettling, like blood mixed with fertiliser. Ahead, the ground sloped gently upwards towards what appeared to be groves of fruit trees. Each fruit was perfectly formed, glistening with dew, some larger than a human head, others small and delicate, like oversized berries. It was a feast for the eyes, a tantalising display of cultivated abundance.
"These aren't natural," Rory finally said. The sheer perfection of it felt wrong. Too manicured, too precise. She plucked a leaf from a passing vine, its surface cool and smooth, almost like spun glass. It bled a milky, sweet-smelling sap at the stem.
"Nature by design," Isolde corrected, her voice soft . "Harvested, cultivated, perfected. To delight the palates of the Dymasian court." Her words painted a picture of unseen hands tending this vast garden.
A low, resonant hum vibrated through the air, barely audible at first, then growing steadily. It wasn't the hum of insects or machinery. It felt alive, a deep, contented sigh rising from the very land. Along with it, a faint, rhythmic *thump-thump * joined the chorus. It sounded like something large, yet distant , being prepared, or consumed. The notion sent a prickle of unease down Rory's spine.
They pressed deeper, the groves giving way to wider avenues lined with towering, ancient amber-barked trees. Their canopy filtered the already warm sky, casting long, shifting orange shadows on the ground. The air grew heavier here, the scents even more concentrated, making Rory’s head spin slightly . She felt a craving she couldn't place, a hollow ache for something profoundly satisfying. It was a subtle, insidious pull, a whisper on the edge of her awareness. *Eat. Indulge. Forget.*
"The very air here tempts," Isolde observed, without looking at Rory . "A sweet poison, for the unwary."
Rory frowned, shaking her head to clear the strange sensation. The Fae-Forged Blade, tucked into her belt, offered a small anchor, its moonsilver hilt always cold against her skin, even in this oppressive heat. It grounded her, a reminder of other worlds, other dangers.
They broke through a final line of trees into an astonishing vista. A vast, tiered amphitheatre of cultivation stretched before them, carved from the living rock of what appeared to be mountains in the far distance. Terraces, each a vibrant swathe of different coloured plants, ascended towards the glowing sky. At the very centre, a colossal structure rose, twisting like a corkscrew towards the heavens, its surface shifting with iridescent colours that mimicked mother-of-pearl. It looked like a giant, exquisite dessert .
"Belphegor's palace," Isolde stated, her voice holding a rare hint of solemnity.
As they watched, a segment of the palace shimmered , then peeled back like an orange rind, revealing a momentary glimpse inside. Rory caught sight of impossibly long tables laden with mountains of food, glowing with inner light. Figures moved within, though their forms were blurred by distance and shimmer. The rhythmic *thump-thump * intensified. It sounded like a pulse now, the heartbeat of this gluttonous realm.
"They feast," Nyx murmured, their violet eyes fixed on the palace . "Always."
Rory’s heart gave a sudden, hard lurch . She spotted movement, not within the palace, but closer . Beneath the shade of one of the colossal amber trees fringing the central clearing, a long, serpentine shape coiled. It was almost perfectly camouflaged against the bark, but the amber light caught a flicker of scales, dark and lustrous. It was thick as a tree trunk, far too large to be a mere Earthly creature. Its head, massive and blunt, rested on the mossy ground, barely visible. It seemed to sleep, or perhaps, it waited.
A low growl rumbled, deep and guttural, shaking the very moss beneath their feet. It emanated not from the serpentine creature, but from behind them .
Rory spun around, her hand already on the hilt of the Fae-Forged Blade. The glade they had just passed through, moments before a picture of verdant tranquillity, now seemed to ripple with unseen movement. The sweet scent in the air shifted, taking on a sharper, more metallic undertone.
The leaves on a nearby tree rustled violently, though no breeze stirred. Then, a dark, bulky shape burst forth from the foliage. It stood on two legs, broad and squat, covered in coarse, knotted fur the colour of dried mud. Its eyes, small and red, glowed with malevolent hunger. Drool, thick and greenish, dripped from between sharp, yellowed teeth. It carried a crude, bone-tipped spear, its tip glinting menacingly in the amber light.
Another appeared beside it, then another, emerging from the vibrant undergrowth . They were smaller than the sleeping serpentine beast, but easily twice Rory's height, their bodies muscled and brutish. Their growls joined the first, a chorus of predatory intent. They moved with surprising speed, fanning out to encircle the group. The Heartstone Pendant thrummed frantically now, a warning beat against her chest.
"Well," Rory said, pulling the Fae blade free. It hummed in her hand, its cold presence a welcome contrast to the oppressive warmth . "Looks like someone's found their dinner."
The largest of the creatures snarled, its red eyes locking onto Rory's bright blue ones. It hefted its spear, its thick lips peeling back to reveal more of its jagged teeth. It took a shuffling step forward, then another.
"They guard the harvest," Isolde murmured, her voice still impossibly calm, even as the creatures closed in. "Amongst other things."
The creatures surged forward, closing the distance in a rush. Their roars split the air, drowning out the gentle hum of Dymas. Rory braced herself, the moonsilver blade a silver line in the amber light. She saw the lead creature's spear lift, an arc of bone descending towards her head.