Welcome to Hell's Kitchen

These distractions continued pushing Sazalo deeper into this accursed machine. He was already being taxed beyond what he knew his supply of herbs would salve. The mage felt the tugging from the top of his spine, the yanks of other realities, of words spoken yet not, of appearances in perpetual flux.

*"And what is that on your arm?"*

*"These are my herbs..."*

*"We ain't friends..."*

*"You don't wait to ask how fast..."*

He needed another smoke.

"Samsara. Still nothing about Galgariel?" *get your shit together, god,* Sazalo grumbled to himself as he reestablished contact.

"Fraid not, Saz," Samsara responded. Not through the communicator, though. He was just ahead, clad in a chef's coat.

"Why are you dressed like that!?" The mage was more angered by the change in clothes than why the god suddenly decided to make an appearance in person.

"First, this facility seems to have measures against sensing internal presences." Samsara crossed his arms, the god's mechanical right arm peering through the long chef sleeve. "Preventing a god from sensing what lies within, needless to say that's a curiosity. And second-"

"And second, you will not interrupt my fokken cooking, organic!" A brash, posh voice cut Samsara off. It too wore a chef's coat, the wires on its head sculpted to form a fiery head of false hair.

The machine pulled over another man, clad in green and blue, tucking an afflicted left arm under his cloak. He was thrown against the table Samsara stood at, which had dishes of food, more food than any of them could stomach at once. No, not food. It was weaponry, random bits of technology arranged to look like food at a glance. Sazalo winced at the biomechanical mess, failing to notice they were surrounded by other chef bots.

"You do realize your master likely hasn't been here for ages, right?" The green-clad man sneered.

"Not the point, ya daft bahstard!" The head chef snapped back, "Long as this kitchen stands, we cook!"

The man flashed a sly grin before running one of the weapons through the head chef, “Sorry, boss. I prepared something ahead of time!”

A surge of energy as sharp as his perceived wit arced violently from the head chef's chest, the wizard whirled his arm around him, carrying the crackling blast of electricity to the surrounding bots, knocking them to the ground, He flicked his hair back with a chuckle and tucked his bound arm beneath his cloak as fast as the grin left him.

Sazalo took note of his gesture. “The magic in your arm isn't just your own, is it? It's a curse.” he took the final drag from his remaining roach. The wizard said nothing but looked away.

“I never meant for this to be a part of me, gramps,” his grip tightened on his cloak. “This place, it might have what-”

“A wish to grant!?” Sazalo snarled. “You really think this place will offer itself no strings attached?”

“So what am I supposed to do, let this wretched curse have its way with me!? No, I've tried everything, and this is my best shot. A ship with seemingly limitless tech. Unlimited reach-”

“-For unlimited power,” another voice joined in on interrupting the wizard. A familiar, dreadful voice to Sazalo, a dread he couldn't process before the beast charged and seized the younger man by the arm.

“GAH!” the wizard hissed in pain, the flesh on his arm writhed in the demon's clutches, stretching and straining against his bones, the rush of new mass taking over his forearm threatening to bend his muscles through his tendons. “What the hell are you doing?”

Galgariel chattered his splinted mandibles, taking note of the wizard's left arm. “Another curse to join this wretched body of yours, I see. Give my regards to the affliction that came before me.”

The hissing stab of grass cut the monster off, one of Sazalo's spears impaled Galgariel's torso, and another, and several more. The man roared in desperation to fetter the implacable demon, but he only seemed to accomplish loosening the grip on the younger man, who fell grasping yet another afflicted arm.

The beast looked over at Samsara, grimacing back at Galgariel. “I see you're letting your stray do your dirty work again, Samsara. I'll...take my time with him.”

A crackle of thunder echoed throughout the room as the wizard held out his left arm, aiming for the spears Sazalo lodged in the demon's waist. The charges danced between the magical lances, flakes of ashen moss lifting off Galgariel's body. Sazalo ran one more cluster of spears into the demon as smoke billowed from beneath his summoned armor.

“mardood.” he sneered.

“Bastard!” with a final exertion the wizard blasted the demon in half, his magic amplified by the spears. The halves landed with a heavy thud, the demon only chuckled.

“Impressive,” Galgariel lowed, “but a minor setbackk aatttt bbbbeeeee-”

The beast's words slurred to a crawl, Samsara leapt before the two men with a large mechanical staff, the room echoed with the sounds of a massive errant clock.

“Find the exit, Saz! I'll hold it off while I can! The Wife's arcane suppression doesn't take kindly to my presence.” Saz grabbed the wizard's cloak and yanked him away to find the exit.

Using the myriad technology around the “kitchen” the wizard crafted a device similar to the one on his left arm, slowing Galgariel's affliction but never stopping it. Saz received a device in kind for his right arm.

“You're on borrowed time,” Sazalo said. “We both are.”

The wizard chuckled, “So what else is new? Can't exactly make things worse.” He grimaced once more at his arms, still holding his left arm beneath his cloak.