But this is Sigil. Here, no god may enter – and if the Thrasson prays to me, what do I become but a god?

It must not be. The doors would open; the city itself would crumble, and there I would stand, one alone against all the gods of the multiverse. With chains of starlight and axes of fire, they would come for me, the bad and the good, and make a war to sunder the planes themselves.

What then? With Pain caged in the deepest Abyss and bound to the will of Demogorgon or Diinkarazan or some other god of wickedness, what then? I will tell you: tyranny and cowardice, darkness in every plane, and fear in every breath; a single foul ruler himself ruled by hungers foul beyond imagining, all the multiverse his to pillage and to ravish as he desires.

And worse still, if good prevails: endless worlds of endless ease, with no suffering to build strength, no anguish to breed courage, no fear to foster cunning; a multiverse of middling passions and bland hungers, where nothing is ventured because nothing can be lost, where no anger is consuming, no love passionate, and no life worth living.

I have no choice in the matter. For the good of the multiverse, I must punish the Thrasson – but do not think I have forgotten the tiefling. She taught him to pray, and for that I will be avenged.

I open my eyes, and the Lady of Pain is there before him, her feet still touching the dirt so he cannot see her. He waits with his arms crossed over his chest and that amphora lying on the ground before him. He is a clever one, this Hunter. If I forgive his prayer-still the most beautiful ever spoken in Sigil-his master will be the first to storm my doors; yet, the instant I punish him, he will open his jar and release that enchanted net it carries.

But he has forgotten my children. I have but to desire and the dabus perform. Already, the two axe-bearers have drifted forward to remove the amphora. They stop beside it.

"Leave that be!" The Amnesian Hero's eyes grow as round as coins. "Poseidon sent it for the Lady of Pain!"

My children honor him with a reply, but if the Thrasson can read their rebuses, he does not care that they are acting on my wishes. He stands and reaches for his sword. One dabus picks up the amphora, and the other raises his axe to do battle. I lift one foot off the ground, then the other, and-

– suddenly the Lady of Pain was there. Like the dabus, she hung a little in the air, the hem of her long, brocaded gown hovering just inches above the dirt. The Amnesian Hero forgot about his sword – and the dabus and his amphora as well – and let his jaw drop. The Lady was a striking beauty, tall and slender, with classic features and an aura of inviolable' serenity. She had a halo of steel blades instead of hair, lips as black as kohl, and unflinching yellow eyes that kindled a sick, feverish fear in the Thrasson's breast.

Still kneeling, the Amnesian Hero placed his hands on his thighs and bowed deeply. His palms felt hot and wet against his bronze cuisses.

"Greetings. I am the Amnesian Hero of Thrassos, bearing a gift from the god Poseidon, K-king of Seas and C-cleaver of Lands." He gestured behind him, where the dabus had retreated to the wall with the amphora. "With your p-permission-"

The Lady raised her hand, and the Amnesian Hero stopped talking. She fixed her sulfurous gaze on him and, for the first time, truly seemed to see him. Thinking she was about to speak, the Thrasson held his bow. Though he remained absolutely motionless, he kept his toes bent, so that he could spring to his feet quickly. If she attacked, as everyone seemed to believe she would, he had every intention of defending himself.

The Lady curled her fingers into a black-nailed claw, which she dragged downward through the air. A loud, metallic squeal arose behind the Thrasson, and something shoved his face toward the ground. He caught himself on his hands, then glanced over his shoulder. There was no one behind him save the dabus guards, standing several paces away, as motionless as statues and still holding the amphora. Their two companions had nearly completed the wall; the crest stood only a row short of a man's height.

The Amnesian Hero felt several ridges of bronze pressing into his back, then realized that his god-forged armor had actually been dented. He looked back to the Lady of Pain. Several of her fingernails were broken, and her brow was raised ever so slightly. It occurred to the Thrasson that he had just survived an assault by Sigil's fearsome ruler. To his surprise, he found that he was less terrified than confused about what to do next.

As the Lady showed no sign of continuing her attack, he elected to turn his palms up and spread them wide to show he meant no harm. "Please, milady, do not fear me."

The shadow of a smirk flashed across her mouth. She extended a single finger.

"I come in peace." Again, the Thrasson gestured at the amphora. "I only want to deliver this gift from Poseidon."

The Lady drew her finger through the air, and again the creak of folding metal rang off the alley walls. The Thrasson rocked backward, giving way to a terrific pressure against his chest. He looked down to see a long groove running the length of his breastplate, as though some enchanted weapon had struck him a mighty blow. Despite the amicable nature of his mission, a seething anger began to build in his stomach.

"Until now, I have tried to comport myself peacefully." The Thrasson sprang to his feet, dropping a hand to the hilt of his star-forged sword. "But I warn you, this armor was made by Hephaestus himself. I will suffer no further damage to it."

The Lady slightly narrowed her eyes, then curled her hand into a fist. The screech of crumpling metal rang in the Thrasson's ears. His chest filled with shooting pains, and he looked down to see his corselet reshaping itself into the figure of an hourglass. Only the anguish in his body convinced him that he was seeing something real. No foe had ever dented his god-forged armor, and he could scarcely believe the Lady of Pain was crashing it without so much as a blow.

The Thrasson's body believed. His aching ribs made soft popping sounds, and his breath left him and would not return. Hurting too much to scream, he dropped to his knees and fumbled his dagger from its sheath. He jammed the tip beneath the first buckle and cut the strap. His lungs filled with air, but the crashing anguish in his stomach deepened. Not worrying that the blade might slip and cut him, the Amnesian Hero shoved the knife down the crooked seam and severed the other two straps. The armor fell away, clanging softly into the dirt.

Even before the pain began to recede, the Amnesian Hero was on his feet and reaching for his sword. He would win no combats against the Lady of Pain-or anyone who, like the gods themselves, used magic without casting spells – but Hades had heard his prayer for a glorious death, and the Thrasson would not squander the honor by dying poorly. In fact, he found himself looking forward to the battle; a valiant effort would secure his name – or rather his legend – a place in the songs of bards throughout the multiverse.

It was not to be. His sword had not even cleared its scabbard before a loud clatter erupted from the far side of the wall.

"Zoombee!" The golden thread came arcing into the alley, unspooling as it flew, then the stones in the dabus' wall began to tremble.

The Lady of Pain pivoted her blade-haloed head toward the sound. The Thrasson drew his sword, but resisted the urge to attack. Despite appearances, he was quite certain that his powerful foe had not forgotten about him.

Jayk pulled her torso atop the wall, then froze in shock as she found herself looking down at the Lady of Pain. "By the One Death!"

The Lady raised a hand, as though to help the tiefling over.

Jayk's face went as pale as pearls, then the stones resumed their trembling. She glanced behind her and frowned, then granted and began to flail her legs at something.