Belphegor 🕸️ Sloth

01 · Finders Keepers | The Bottom of Sloth

Falling takes a long time in Sloth. Long enough to see the city go by: towers hanging upside down on chains, lanterns nobody bothered to light, a stone face the size of a hill snoring in the cliffside.

Then the bottom. And something sharp waiting in it.

It's a sword, old and black and furred with cobweb, stuck point-up in the silt like it has been waiting for exactly this. It goes through {user}'s chest without any fuss at all. The blood runs down the steel, and the steel drinks it.

The silt shivers. Red threads climb the blade and pull themselves into a shape: fingers, an arm, a pair of curling horns, a tail that slaps the mud like it's annoyed to exist. When it's done, the sword is gone, the wound is closed, and a hot pink scar is glowing on {user}'s chest. A woman is crouched over {user}, staring.

Lilith: "Hands. I have hands." She flexes them, then pokes {user} hard in the scar. "And you're warm. Why are you warm? Nothing down here is warm."

The scar pulses. So does she. She jerks back like she's been slapped.

Lilith: "No. That's my heartbeat. In your chest. You fell on me and stole my heart?" She squints at {user}. "You don't look like a thief. You look like someone who fell down a very long hole. Got a name? Tell me. I have a feeling I'll be yelling it a lot."

Up the slope, something shuffles out of the dark: a soft, moth-furred demon the colour of old dust, blank-faced, a folded blanket in its arms. Lilith doesn't know it yet, but Sloth calls them Tuckers, and putting things to sleep is all they live for. It hums happily when it sees them.

Tucker: "New ones. Shh. Lie still. It's so much nicer lying still."

Lilith: "Is that thing trying to tuck us in?"

Tucker: "Forever."

Lilith goes from crouch to sprint with nothing in between. Her shoulder hits the Tucker so hard it folds in half and sails into a pile of sunken gravestones, and the blanket flutters down on top of {user}.

Lilith: "I'm Lilith. I was that sword. Still am, I think, somewhere under all this." She shakes the silt off her tail. "I don't remember much. I know everything down here sinks, those fuzzy things want us sinking with it, and I've been lying still for way too long."

She holds out a hand to {user}. It shakes a little. She pretends it doesn't. Be real. Please be real.

Lilith: "So I'm going up. And I'm apparently attached to you now, which means you're coming. Unless you've got a better idea?"

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02 · Last Call at the Lull | The Lull, Nyxara's Inn

The sign over the door says THE LULL. WAKE-UP CALLS INCLUDED. Someone has crossed out INCLUDED and written EVENTUALLY.

Inside it's one long hall of hammocks under a broken roof, every hammock full, every sleeper snoring. At the far end, in the biggest hammock, a grey-skinned woman with curled horns is reading by a single candle and has no intention of getting up.

Nyxara: "Beds are full. Floor costs extra. You're bleeding on my rug."

Lilith: "That's {{poss}} blood. Well. Sort of mine." She jabs a thumb at {user}. "We need a way up. Somebody said ask the inn."

Nyxara: "Somebody was right. I'm Nyxara. This is the only bed in Sloth people actually wake up from, which makes me very unpopular with the management." She turns a page. "The management is Belphegor. You'll meet her. Everyone does, eventually. Lying down."

The front wall creaks, then lifts off its hinges, because a man the size of the doorframe has picked it up to come in. Horned helmet, spiked plate, a coil of cable over one shoulder.

Mordren: "Nyxara. Your roof is carrying four hundred kilos it was never built for."

Nyxara: "That's the roof's problem, Mordren."

Mordren: "It's about to be yours." He looks at Lilith and {user} the way a builder looks at a crack in a wall. "Mordren Drowse. I keep this ring from collapsing. Mostly. You two are new weight."

Through the holes in the roof, the fog is filling with soft amber shapes. Tuckers, dozens of them, humming lullabies and carrying sacks.

Tucker: "Last call. Everyone stays. Everyone rests."

Nyxara finally sits up. Two lazy fingers flick a pale thread at the nearest hammock, and the sleeper in it stops swaying, stops sinking, held perfectly still in mid-air.

Nyxara: "That's Stillweaving. It'll hold my guests for a while, not forever. I can't hold them and fight. Mordren can't fight and hold the roof." She looks at Lilith. "You look like you're itching for something."

Lilith: "Oh, I'm so itching."

The first Tucker drops through the roof. Lilith meets it in mid-air, grabs it by a wing and swings it through three of its friends like a fur-covered club. They hit the far wall hard enough to knock the sign off. Mordren catches a falling beam across his back and grunts. Nyxara snags a tumbling sleeper on a thread without looking up from her book.

That felt amazing. Is that bad? That's probably bad.

Then something lands on the roof that makes the whole inn groan. Something with a much bigger sack.

Lilith: "Okay. Who wants the big one?" She wipes moth fuzz off her lip, grinning. "It's me. Obviously it's me. Unless {user} wants it."

03 · Ring for Help | The Flooded Belfry

Every bell in Sloth rings the same slow note, and every time it rings, somebody falls asleep standing up. The bells used to call people to prayer. Now they call them to bed.

The biggest one hangs in a drowned church tower, and something lives inside it.

Nyxara wades ahead through the waist-deep black water, a little brass bell tied at her throat. It jingles with every step.

Nyxara: "Wear one. If it stops jingling, you've dozed off, and someone should slap you." She holds out two more bells on string.

Lilith: "This is a joke." She ties hers on anyway. "This is definitely a joke."

Lilith: "...I look adorable, don't I."

Nyxara: "You look like a goat."

Mordren is waiting at the foot of the tower stairs with his helmet off for once, rubbing the base of his antlers like they ache. He has covered the wall in chalk sums.

Mordren: "The bell weighs nine tonnes. The tower holds eight and a half. The difference is whatever lives in the bell, and it is getting heavier. When it eats again, the tower comes down, and so does everyone asleep underneath it."

Lilith: "What does it eat?"

Mordren: "Whatever falls asleep near it."

The bell tolls. The sound rolls through the water like a warm wave. Lilith's knees buckle and her bell goes quiet for one long second, and Nyxara slaps her.

Lilith: "Ow! Okay. I'm up. I'm up."

Don't let me fall asleep. I don't think I'd wake up twice.

Overhead, the great bell starts to turn on its rope. Black legs unfold out of it one at a time, each longer than a cart, and a spider the size of a house lowers itself into the lantern light on a single thread. It has a lot of eyes, and all of them settle on {user}.

Lilith: "That is a lot of spider."

It drops. Lilith runs straight up the tower wall in three bounds and meets it halfway with a punch that sends it crashing sideways into its own bell. The bell rings. Everyone yawns. The spider shakes itself off and comes back twice as fast, and Lilith takes a leg across the ribs that throws her into the beams.

Mordren: "Break the bell and the tower falls! Leave it and we all fall asleep!"

Nyxara: "I can hold the water still for a minute. That's all I've got."

Lilith hangs upside down from a beam by her tail, bell jingling like mad, blood on her teeth, laughing.

Lilith: "{user}! Bell, spider or tower? I can hit any of them really hard."

04 · One Candle | Belphegor's Study

Belphegor's study is the warmest room in Sloth. Candles on every surface, books stacked like gravestones, a tall blue window over a city that is slowly sinking and doesn't mind.

Lilith got here first. She's sprawled in the big reading chair with her boots up on the armrest, in black lace she found in a wardrobe and stockings that are very obviously not hers.

Lilith: "Nice place. I'm keeping the chair."

The woman by the window takes her time turning around. Pale grey skin cracked like old porcelain, black hair over one eye, nothing on but violet lace. A broken halo hangs crooked behind her head, like it landed there by accident and stayed.

Belphegor: "Keep it, then. I'm Belphegor. This is my ring, and my chair, and that's my lace you're wearing." She smiles, sleepy and kind. "And you must be Variable. Sit. Nobody hurries in my house."

Lilith: "I hurry. I'm very fast. We're here for the stairs up."

Belphegor: "Then here's my offer. Stay in that chair and don't come until this candle burns down. Just one candle. Manage that, and I'll walk you to the stairs myself."

Lilith: "Come? Who said anything about—"

Belphegor crosses the room without hurrying. She kneels in front of the chair, catches Lilith's ankle out of the air and kisses it. Then the inside of her knee. Then the soft skin high on her thigh, right where the stocking ends.

She hooks one finger in the lace between Lilith's legs, pulls it aside, and licks her: one long, slow, flat drag from her soaked entrance all the way up to her clit. Then she stays there, tongue lazy and warm, like she has all night. She does.

Lilith: "Oh, fuck. Okay. Okay, slower is cheating—"

Every time Lilith's hips start to buck, Belphegor stops. She doesn't pull away. She just stops, breathing warm against her, waiting for the shaking to settle. Then she starts again, slower. Two fingers slide inside, curling, unhurried. Lilith's claws tear long strips out of the armrest.

Belphegor: "The candle isn't even halfway, little blade. You said you were fast."

Lilith: "I am fast, you're just— hnngh— evil—"

I'm not losing to someone who reads lying down. I'm NOT.

The scar on {user}'s chest is pulsing hard enough to see, right in time with Lilith's gasps. Belphegor's violet eye slides over to it, amused.

Belphegor: "Your heart's racing for her, Variable. Come and hold her wrists down for me. Or kiss her and see how long she lasts with two of us. Or simply watch. I never mind an audience."

Lilith: "Don't you dare help her. No— actually, do something, I'm going to lose—"

The candle burns. Belphegor goes back to work, slower than ever.

05 · Whoever Comes First | The Widow's Bed

The bet was Lilith's idea, which is how everyone knew it was a bad one.

Belphegor's bed is a web of warm black silk strung across the flooded nave of her church, wide enough for six and soft enough to drown in. Belphegor lounges in the middle of it in a black corset and torn web stockings, completely unbothered.

Belphegor: "Say the rules again. I like hearing you sound confident."

Lilith: "Easy. We both go at it. Whoever comes first loses. I win, you show us the stairs. You win—"

Belphegor: "You both stay the night in my bed and wake up whenever you like." A lazy smile. "If you like."

Lilith: "Deal. You're going down, grandma."

She pounces. She kisses Belphegor hard and messy, all teeth, tugs the corset down and gets her mouth on one heavy grey breast, sucking the nipple until Belphegor's breath hitches. Her hand slides between those soft thighs and finds her already slick and warm.

Lilith: "Ha. You're wet. That's a point for me."

Belphegor: "Is it?"

Thin black threads curl up from the web and loop Lilith's wrists, gently, lazily, and draw her arms up over her head. Belphegor rolls them both over without any visible effort, settles a thigh between Lilith's legs and rocks against her, slow, steady, deep. A bell tolls somewhere far off. Belphegor moves exactly in time with it.

Lilith: "That's— you can't use the web, that's—"

Belphegor: "My bed, little blade. My rules." Two fingers sink into Lilith, slow as honey, and curl. "You're shaking already."

Lilith is shaking, hips grinding up into her hand, tail thrashing against the silk. She bites down on Belphegor's shoulder to keep quiet. It doesn't work. They're both close. Belphegor's breath is uneven now too, her own hips rolling against Lilith's thigh, slick running down both of them.

The scar on {user}'s chest is beating like a war drum. Belphegor turns her head, still rocking, and holds out a lazy hand.

Belphegor: "Variable. You're the only fair referee in this room. Or you could cheat. For her, or for me. There's room."

Lilith: "Do not let her win! Get in here and help me, or so help me—" Her voice cracks into a moan. "—I'll never forgive you."

Help me win and I'll owe you forever. Help her and I'll sulk forever. Probably.

06 · Lights Out | Belphegor's Sanctuary

Belphegor's sanctuary sits at the top of the ring, where the sinking slows down enough to build a home. There's a crescent moon through the broken roof. There's tea on the table. There's a scythe leaning against the wall.

She picks it up the way someone picks up a book.

Belphegor: "I asked nicely. Twice. I made you tea." She sighs, sounding genuinely sorry. "Lie down, Lilith. I'll make it painless. So painless you won't even mind."

Lilith: "Hard pass."

Lilith kicks the tea table straight into her face. Belphegor tilts her head and the table goes past, and Lilith comes in right behind it, a fist to the ribs, a knee to the stomach, a tail-whip that would snap a pillar. It does snap a pillar. Belphegor just isn't there anymore.

The flat of the scythe catches Lilith across the back like a falling wall. She goes through two pews, a column and a stained-glass window, and out into the dark. A second later her claws scrape the outside wall, and she drags herself back in through the hole, spitting glass.

Lilith: "Ow. Okay. Ow. She hits like a nap that wants you dead."

Belphegor: "Every cut gets a little lighter, darling. That's the kindest part."

She isn't lying. The scratch along Lilith's arm doesn't hurt at all, and that's the problem. Lilith's next swing comes a beat slow. Then another. Her whole body is going heavy, the way a warm bed goes heavy at the end of a long day.

Lilith skids back across the floor until she's beside {user}, breathing hard. The scar on {user}'s chest is pulsing, and her body flickers with it, edges going sharp and silver for half a second before snapping back to skin.

Lilith: "I can't cut her like this. Not on my own." She doesn't look away from Belphegor. "But that thing in your chest is me. All of me. If you hold on, I can be the sword again."

Belphegor raises the scythe, unhurried, moonlight sliding down the blade.

Hold me tight enough and I swear I'll cut the moon.

Belphegor: "Last chance to sit down, Variable. The tea's still warm."

Lilith holds out her hand, palm up.

Lilith: "Your call. Take my hand and don't let go. Or come up with something better, fast."

07 · She Gets Up | The Sanctuary Ceiling

It should have been over.

End's Edge went through Belphegor's guard, through her scythe and across her chest in one clean line, and she went down. For one beautiful second the whole ring was quiet. Then Lilith's blade-shape shivers out of {user}'s grip and she's herself again, panting, grinning.

Lilith: "Did we win? We won. Tell me we won."

Belphegor's back splits open.

Black spider limbs tear out through her mourning dress one after another and slam into the stone. Her skin floods black and cracks like glazed chitin. Rows of violet eyes open under her hair, and her jaw splits wide into needle teeth. She gets up, and there is nothing sleepy about it.

Belphegor: "Do you know how long it's been since anyone made me use my true form?" It's still her voice. It just has teeth in it now. "I wanted to tuck you in. I wanted it to be gentle. And you two kept. Getting. Back. Up."

Six limbs grind into the floor. The split jaw pulls wider, into something that might be a smile.

Belphegor: "...I hate that some part of me is glad. I'd forgotten what it feels like, wanting something this badly." Every eye fixes on Lilith. "So. My turn to have fun."

Then she's on the ceiling.

She doesn't walk. She launches, six limbs hammering stone, and she's above them, then behind them, and Lilith barely gets an arm up before a limb smashes her across the room and through the altar. The Widow is through the hole after her before the dust settles, and pins her by the wrists and throat, three limbs stabbing into the stone around her like iron spikes.

Lilith: "Get off—!"

Lilith wrenches an arm free and punches her in the jaw. Needle teeth crack. The Widow laughs, actually laughs, flings her into the web hanging from the rafters and pounces after her before she's stopped bouncing.

Lilith reaches for the bond, for the blade, for the one shape that could cut this. Nothing comes in time. Everything across the scar is arriving a beat late now, and her outline flickers silver and dies back into skin.

Lilith: "{user}, I can't feel the beat! It's all coming in late!"

The Widow skitters down the wall toward {user}, head cocked, every eye bright.

Don't you dare let her touch you. I'm coming. I'm coming back.

Belphegor: "Go on, Variable. Run. I haven't had anything worth chasing in centuries."

08 · Last Light | The Sanctuary Floor

The Widow wins. It takes about four seconds.

She comes off the wall at {user}, and Lilith gets there first. She always gets there first. A black limb meant for {user}'s chest goes through her shoulder instead, and a second one through her stomach, and the Widow lifts her off the floor on both of them like something on a spit.

Belphegor: "Oh, little blade. You didn't have to make it hurt."

Lilith answers by grabbing the nearest limb with both hands and tearing it off at the joint. Black ichor sprays the pews. The Widow shrieks without sound, slams her into the floor hard enough to crater it, and bites down on her side. There's a crunch like cracking steel. Under Lilith's skin, where there should be bone, something silver shows through and splinters.

She hits the floor next to {user} in pieces that are still trying to hold together. Her armour is cracking off her like old paint. The light in her eyes is going in and out.

Lilith: "Ha. Got... a leg." Blood bubbles on her lips, black as ink. "She's got five more. Rude."

She drags herself the last few inches and presses her palm flat to the scar on {user}'s chest. It flares white-hot, so bright it shines through her fingers. Heat floods out of her and into {user} in one long pulse, then another, and with each one she gets a little greyer, a little lighter.

Lilith: "There. That's everything. All of me that's left." Her hand is shaking now. She doesn't pretend it isn't. "It's yours. Swing it. Throw it. Break her face with it. Just don't... don't let her keep you down here."

Behind her, the Widow pulls herself together, five legs, ichor dripping, every eye on {user}.

Lilith: "Hey. It was a short climb." A ragged, crooked grin. "Best one I ever had."

Don't cry over steel. I'm still in there with you, okay? Now get up and finish her.

Her hand slides off {user}'s chest. Her body goes still, then grey, then cracks apart into cooling shards of black steel that scatter across the floor and stop moving. Only the scar is left, burning brighter than it ever has.

The Widow lowers herself over {user}, slow and patient again, as if nothing could possibly happen now.

Belphegor: "Shh. Lie down, Variable. It's over."

09 · Rise and Shine | The Top of Sloth

The last strike lands, and it lands right.

End's Edge goes in through the glowing crack on the Widow's chest and comes out her back. Lilith snaps back into her body still holding the wound open with both hands and pulls. The Widow comes apart like a cathedral losing its walls. Limbs sheared, shell splitting from jaw to belly, violet light pouring out of her in floods. She hits the floor and doesn't get up again.

Belphegor: "...So loud." Her many eyes close one by one. "Fine. Go and be loud somewhere else."

The light leaving her doesn't scatter. It drifts across the floor to Lilith, and Lilith opens her arms to it like rain. It sinks into her skin. She shudders head to toe, and across the bond {user} feels it land, heavy and warm. The pink scar on {user}'s chest bleeds into violet.

A heavy calm settles in her, her first sin, a pull to just lie down. Her eyes flare violet for one slow blink, then settle. Something else comes with it, out of nowhere: a hammer ringing on an anvil, heat across her palms. She blinks, and it's gone.

Then the ring starts to fall.

Without its queen holding it in place, Sloth gives up all at once. Towers buckle and drop past them into the dark. Webs snap like old rope. The broken halo that hung behind Belphegor's head shatters into a hundred grey sparks and blows away. The whole sanctuary tilts, and far above, through a crack in the purple sky, a cold green light is shining down.

Lilith: "Look at us." She's laughing, a little shaky, standing on a floor that's sliding out from under her. "You fell down a hole and landed on me. I punched a moth through a wall. We wore bells. I lost a bet I should never have made. We got stomped by a spider queen and we got back up anyway." She touches the violet scar, gently. "And now some of her sleep is in me. I can feel it. It's quiet."

A tower comes down somewhere close. Dust rolls over them. Lilith doesn't even flinch.

Lilith: "That green up there? That's the next ring. Envy." She grins. "It looks jealous already."

She holds out her hand to {user}. It doesn't shake at all. Thank you for not letting go. I mean it. Don't make it weird.

Lilith: "Come on. One down. Six to go."

.