Chapter 35
Travis Tyrell, CEO of PetroLink Global
Travis Tyrell followed behind Michael Lexington, the boy who was now his guide and protection while he dove in the depths of hell itself.
The second room had been, according to the boy, a breeze. Travis would be inclined to disagree, on a general basis, however it was true that compared to how poorly the first room had gone things had been much better the second time around. The difficulty was much greater, but now that the shock had worn off, the two had worked together to challenge the room in an orderly manner.
They had spent more than two hours strategizing and training in the magic-rich first room of hell. Once they had cleared it of monsters, it was back to only being a dark and damp cave, nothing more except for the presence of magic. Almost… ordinary and underwhelming, with the place taking care of the corpses and the blood so that the only proof they had ever fought monsters and demons was the dried-up and caked filth sticking to their clothes.
Which, Michael had said, would also go away once they left hell.
But Travis was not stupid. His faulty preconceptions had been shattered by the first room, making him realize that despite him calling Michael naïve, he had been naïve himself about other things. After the realization, he had headed into the second room with a whole other mentality. He understood now why Michael had just thrust him into the first room without warning or explanation. The CEO had forced the boy's hand, perhaps, that much was true. But the boy—a young man, really—had adapted to the situation and made sure the most important lesson was imparted and received by Travis as quickly as possible.
In the first room, things had seemed catastrophic. During the vicious and fierce battle that ensued afterwards, and in the second room later on, Travis had been shown the error of his assumptions. Things were under control, Michael more than enough to take care of ten times the demons than there were in a single room.
Then there came the training. And that's where the real difference between Travis' idea of the boy and the reality of who Michael really was showed through. The training had been gruesome. Travis had his arms shattered, his ribs broken, his head caved in more times than he dared recall. Each time he was healed back to full health, given food, and then the process repeated itself.
Was Michael only really himself when he was diving through hell? Who was the scared, nervous and shy boy persona he put on whenever he was outside, in the real world?
Michael had not been idle while Travis trained. He had been subjecting himself to pain ten times as bad as Travis was having it, all in the spirit of training. And it was true that the training was paying off. Travis had thought himself tough before setting foot inside hell. But even a tough man could not shrug off a broken arm like it was nothing.
Now he could. Almost.
He finally understood what Michael Lexington was really made of.
99% crazy, 1% genius. A man Travis could respect. A man he could work with. A man he could work for, maybe, one day.
The magic he had seen, the brutality of how the young man fought, the power this place could promise to whoever dared challenge its demons were all nice icings on an already bought cake. What had begun as a maneuver to get the best possible bargain for his deal, now was slowly transforming into something else inside Travis' mind. It had almost failed spectacularly, but the risk had been worth it in the end.
If he bent his considerable political, economic, social and sheer human capital to the service of this one young man, to what heights could he eventually soar?
Besides, it might be nice to not be in the spotlight, for a change. Let someone else be the face of the operation, while I work from the shadows, gain awesome magic, and relax.
Travis had not lost his mind, of course. The direction of Michael's development could be steered, his ideas influenced, his path advised. And what better position to do it from than that of a huge benefactor allowing him to thrive?
There was more, of course. Michael had explained the coins to him. Want to use magic? You need coins. How to get the coins? Delve the depths of hell. Or be close enough to the entrance to hell that you could siphon off some miser mana that managed to escape from the depths. Too bad the entrance was soon to be deep inside Michael's private property, and that Travis had no idea where to find other entrances.
Not that I would do that. Michael never said it out loud, but I don't think he likes the idea of loose magic wielders outside of his control. For all he is normally meek, he turns dangerous whenever someone brings up the topic.
Travis was willing to be dependent on Michael. Sure, he could find someone to exploit like that bitch Carmela had apparently done. Or he could just find another place like this, assuming it even existed. But why risk it? It would set him on a collision course with Michael, and after what he saw today…
Not a chance in hell.
Travis was still unsure why Michael only acted like this inside this place. In the real world, outside very short and specific circumstances, he was naïve, mellow, weak and unassuming. Not even he, with his considerable expertise and experience at reading people, could have ever expected to see what he saw in here.
The way Michael moved, unrefined but violent and deadly. The way he fought. The magic he commanded, vicious and terrifying in ways the CEO could have never imagined before seeing it in action. It was not flashy, but the thought of a ball of force suddenly appearing in the middle of his guts, blowing him up like a flesh balloon… it was enough to keep even him awake at night.
Then there was the way Michael took command. Another unexpected development. Travis had come to hell thinking he could just shove the boy aside and assume control of the operation. He was the older, more experienced of the two. He was a CEO of a multinational, a ruthless bastard who could take decisions that doomed the planet, that turned economies to dust, he could threaten politicians and sleep like a kitten that very same night.
And yet, all it took was a slight flex of his will, and Michael had cemented himself as the leader of the expedition, as was natural. Yes, Travis could see it now. It was only natural for Michael to be in charge here, and thinking anything else was arrogance itself. Travis had been put in his place and was sure to remain there for the whole duration of their delve, as it was called. Travis preferred to call it a dive, a dive through hell.
What Michael probably did not know was that Travis had decided to translate the power dynamic even outside of hell, and diving. At least when it came to magical matters. He could not be the boss there. Not of someone like Michael—assuming Michael figured out how to act in the real world. Old Dave, the sneaky fox, was making sure Michael learned the lesson, it seemed, from what Travis could see.
The window of time to manipulate Michael had closed long ago, the only two people who could have done it had been David Chestermill and Carmela Esposito.
The first had chosen, wisely in hindsight, to not manipulate the boy but to firmly establish himself as an ally. Commendable foresight.
The second had squandered her chance, choosing to align herself with another helldiver, as Travis had come to call people who ventured into hell in search of power. She, and her helldiver by extension, were on a collision course with Michael.
Travis would make sure Michael, and by extension he, won.
Then there's the matter of other helldivers around the world. Most of them won't be like Michael. But a minority will be crazy enough to come close. Some will be ruthless in the real world from the get-go, unlike Michael who needs to be forged and guided. I'll need to talk to David about this. We have thrown our lot with Michael, and now we need to make sure he is ahead of all the others, before the situation becomes public, and the world changes forever.
They were all assumptions, of course, but there were already two confirmed helldivers and it meant that there could be more. Already Travis was getting rumors about other supernaturally able people around the world, although many powers that be were trying to keep the rumors silenced for as long as possible.
Michael is too slow on the uptake for his own good. Sure, he's smart for a boy and perhaps sly enough to make ends meet in the mundane world. But in this changing world? The very same one he's trying to forge? He's not. He needs to become a man, and soon. He can keep his ideals, if he has any, but he needs to learn and he must do it quickly.
It was while thinking those thoughts that Travis followed Michael to the door leading to the last room of the first circle of hell. Again they had strategized, but this time Michael seemed unsure of what they might find on the other side of the seemingly open doorway, one that Travis learned hid dangers beyond imagination.
"I'm pretty positive it will be a shitshow," Michael said with a sigh as he prepared to cross the threshold.
Travis hummed. "Is there any other way to leave this place?"
The young man shook his head.
"Then we go in." Travis said, his experience as a CEO steeling his nerves. There had not been any close calls, and he felt much more ready than he thought he was back when he first stepped into hell as a helldiver, but seeing Michael pause had given him some hand twitches.
"Usual strat." Michael said, "lights, awareness, and get out of the way. But this time, I'm pretty sure you will be forced to fight."
"As long as I don't die in one hit, right?" Travis said as he gripped his shotgun.
"Right."
With that, they stepped into the literal definition of hell.
If what Travis had been through up until now was harsh and dangerous, then the boss room was positively infernal. It put the other rooms to shame. There was a riot of monsters, all of them at least two feet taller than their counterparts in the earlier rooms. The scattered lights revealed a throng of skeletons, some of them glowing blue with a shimmering forcefield, goblins of green and red skin, their faces riddled with pustules, others with tusks, others contorted in a snarl that froze his blood.
Michael rushed in without a second thought. Spheres of black repulsive force came to being. He punched with flaming hands, skeletons reduced to brittle bones and powder and goblins punched through like they were gelatin.
Travis did not waste time gaping, though. He immediately clocked two threats that had slipped past Michael's assault, the foes too many and the room too large to manage the mob. They were a red goblin, skin covered in wounds that oozed blood, and a skeleton. The latter had its bones covered in a blue shimmering field, one that Travis saw was strong enough to stop even Michael's punches.
At least until he gets serious, he thought as he leveled his shotgun, seeing that Michael was pummeling a shimmering skeleton until its protective magic gave up the fight. He was accumulating wounds, some of them appearing from seemingly nowhere, but he was healing them as fast as he got them.
Travis Tyrell shot the goblin in the face with a shotgun that could decapitate a gorilla. The red goblin's head recoiled backwards but was not severed nor exploded. Its neck snapped, but the goblin simply grabbed it and put it back into place, although the broken bones did not seem to heal as the head lolled to the side. Its skin was pierced and oozing red-brown blood more akin to maple syrup.
Travis did not waste time gaping. Not after all their training. He shot again, and again. As the goblin was staggered, but very much not dead, he turned to the skeleton and delivered the same treatment. The field protecting the bones shimmered with each impact, and the bullets were deflected.
The two foes shambled towards him. They were slow, as if they were in no hurry to kill him. Like they knew he could not defeat them. Indeed, as he ran out of bullets he switched to his handgun, and the patterns repeated itself. Two magazines, and the goblin was bleeding but still walking.
Travis had been walking backwards, but soon he saw the sharp white of the rubber-covered light he had thrown earlier. He had run out of space. Michael was still fighting.
Desperate, he took out a grenade. The explosion deafened him, throwing him against the wall and blinding him in the confined space of the final room of the first circle of hell on earth.
Then his vision returned. Now he froze and gaped, his mouth hanging open as all the muscles in his body seized up.
He saw the shimmering, bony arm descend on him like divine judgement. Fitting, for a place like this.
Travis Tyrell, CEO of PetroLink, shrewd businessman, cursed his idiocy. He was not a good fighter at all, despite his earlier boasting, on the helicopter.
He closed his eyes. Accepting his punishment. He hoped he wouldn't die in one hit.
The blow didn't come.
When he opened them again, there he saw a ball of blackness so dark it seemed to suck in the light itself. Beyond it, the skeleton's protective magic flickered for a moment. The two spells clashed, the skeleton's arm locked in place as the monster tried to repel the magic stopping its attack.
The shimmering field lost the battle, and the skeleton lost its arm. Behind it, Travis noticed a dead red goblin with his peripheral vision. Then Michael slapped the skeleton, exploding its bones and mangling his own arm. Showering Travis in splinters.
Then there was silence, broken only by the snapping of bones as Michael healed his gruesome injury back to health. Travis knew Michael could feel everything as he healed, that's why most patients were under anesthesia back at the clinic. Yet, Michael did not flinch. His breathing was not even labored. His face was concentrated, but not scrunched up in pain.
In hell, Michael was a monster more dangerous than the demons conjured to stop him.
Now I have to make him into a monster outside as well.