Chapter Text
The sun is scorching. That's probably what's keeping most of the demons here inside. Jokes on them, the heat feels nice. It soaks into his skin in a way far different than the heat of the Banlands does. He likes it. Banhammer's armor doubles as an absorber for the sun's rays. The layer of safety it offers is nice, but not as necessary in his opinion. Of course, it does make him stand out. It's not something he's worried over. Banhammer glares at the odd look he’s given by a passing demon. They skitter away meekly, and he barks a laugh.
Banhammer strolls unhurried through the sparsely populated streets, passing the ornate buildings and shops. Plants are scarce, and he sees more cacti than anything else, but the fenced off private properties nestled between the shops often have more diverse greenery visible beyond the wrought iron gates. Lost Temple has a beauty to it, if one ignores the slums to the south.
It doesn’t take long for him to arrive at his destination. A shop, only one story, but just as lavish on the outside as the storefronts framing it. As Banhammer steps towards the door, the swirling carvings in the adobe pillars holding up the awning draw in his gaze. He’s not one for architecture, but he’s sure he’s never seen anything like it before. Within the chaotic swirls are eyes, placed regularly enough for one to notice if they were paying attention. Weird, but he’s not here to judge someone’s design taste.
He opens the door and steps inside, a bell chiming as he does. The clerk sitting at the desk is reading a newspaper, but tucks it away and puts on a cheery smile as he enters. Their one eye watches him closely.
“Welcome! Feel free to look around, or ask me any questions you may have!” they say, perhaps a little too happily.
Banhammer eyes them before glancing around himself. The shelves are… sparse to say the least, and littered with useless odds and ends. It even smells dingy. How has this place survived? Banhammer directs his attention back to the demon. Their name tag reads Spork. As if this place couldn’t get any stranger. At least he can get to why he’s even here.
He steps close to the counter and leans on it, casually as if he’s not about to ruin their day. “Word on the street says this place is a good way to get in on some goods you don’t advertise, if you catch my drift?” Perfect. Exactly the way he rehearsed it. Momma would be so proud.
Their expression shifts into something far less confident. A subtle change, but still there. They nervously trace a finger over one of their short, teal horns, “I dunno, depends on what you’re asking for,” they look away from him, and there’s movement from their other hand under the desk that his lower eyes catch. Banhammer makes note of it before continuing.
“Anything you got, I’m open to suggestions,” His grin is sharp, “Unless you got a reason for not selling to me?”
“No no! It’s just…” They hesitate, and the hand by their horns moves to grip their opposite arm instead, “I think you’ve made a mistake.”
Banhammer’s smile falls and he barely gets the chance to say, “What d’ya mean by that?” before he realizes that the clerk’s eye is looking behind him.
Pain blooms across his skull as something hard cracks against it. He stumbles with the force, and his vision blurs. Banhammer turns to try and face his attacker head on, reaching for his gear, but a shove from a second person takes advantage of his brief window of unbalance and he topples over into one of the shelves. Everything crashes to the ground, Banhammer included. Before he can get his bearings, the attackers are on him again.
The biograft, models he doesn’t recognize, work in complete sync. His tail swipes the feet out from under one, but as it falls to the ground the other lunges for his hammer. Banhammer snarls and flips himself so he can get up, but the one on the floor has already recovered. It tackles him, pinning him to the ground. He snarls and squirms to get free, but the grip it has on him doesn’t yield. How strong are these things?!
The other uses the opportunity to tear his hammer out of its straps. He doubles his efforts to try and get this damn robot off his back. Panic, something foreign to him, floods his ichor. That’s his gear! He can’t lose that! It mingles perfectly with fury at someone putting their hands on the core of his being.
The adrenaline allows him to rip an arm out of the grip of the biograft, almost in reach of the handle. He could unsummon it if he could just touch it, he just has to get close enough. Too late, he realizes as the robot drags it away yet again, and joins the other in restraining him.
With both working together, it’s futile. Already he can feel the adrenaline making way for a pounding headache. Still, he continues struggling against them even as he feels them restrain his hands behind his back with handcuffs. His stomach drops when straining against the metal around his wrists leads to nothing. Not even a hint of give.
Shamefully, Banhammer finally goes limp. His eyes don’t leave his hammer. The teal glow of the biografts bounce strangely off the purple, making a sickly murky color. Without his hammer he can’t fight as effectively; especially not without his hands. Banhammer digs his claws into his palms. What would his mom say if she ever caught him thinking like that? Momma would never let him give in like this. Maybe if he-
A loud crack against his head is the last thing he feels before he blacks out.
Banhammer wakes up to a throbbing pain behind his eyes. It’s made worse by the bright light overhead. Slowly he’s made aware of the rest of his body beyond the headache. He’s sitting at a table in a metal chair. His armor is gone, and the connection to his gear feels strained, as if it’s far away. His arms are chained behind his back, and when he tugs on them he can tell the chains are wrapped around the backrest. His legs are chained similarly, and just for good measure there’s chains around his middle.
Blearily, he tries to gain his bearings. The room is concrete, cold, and the table in front of him is a shiny metal with a matching chair on the other side. It smells almost sterile. An interrogation room then. Banhammer has never been on this side of the scene. The novelty would be interesting if he wasn’t worried about where the hell he was.
The gears in his mind turn slowly; much slower than they should actually. Was he drugged? The thought makes him shiver. The first time his mom lets him handle the Banlands on his own, he immediately gets kidnapped and drugged. He’ll never live it down.
Banhammer doesn’t have to think about it for long before an unfamiliar inphernal walks in. He’s short, at least compared to Banhammer, and he has a sickeningly smug expression. His white eye is as striking as his large, dark teal horns. He saunters over to the chair opposite of him, and sits down, folding his hands on the table. His smile is unnerving.
“Well, never expected to meet someone of your caliber here. Tell me, Banhammer, what were you doing snooping around like that? Did your mother not teach you any better?”
Banhammer snarls, baring sharp teeth, “You leave her out of this!”
He laughs, “Cute display! Won’t do much around here though. I’m gonna make this easy on both of us.” He leans forward, grin stretching across his face, “Welcome to The Church of the True Eye. I’m just so sorry your introduction has been rocky, but I’m sure we’ll be able to smooth that over.”
He pauses, leaving Banhammer to digest the information. The Church has been something new that's cropped up, and now he’s actually found where they’re based out of. Or, more accurately-
“Maybe you should check where your tips come from, you know. It was quite easy to lead you here,” the demon leans back this time, hands behind his head casually, “I almost feel sorry for you! You’re lucky The Father has taken an interest.”
He’s heard enough gloating. Banhammer snarls again and struggles against the bindings, tail thrashing behind him and claws digging into the ground. The chair doesn’t budge. All he succeeds in doing is making the chains rattle against the metal. The demon freezes before he starts laughing, cruel and sharp.
“You really are something else! Even now you won’t stop fighting!” he stands, walking around the table and getting just close enough to crowd Banhammer’s personal space, “Like I said, you’re lucky The Father doesn’t want to get rid of you. You should thank him, if a miserable false god like you ever gets the chance.” He lays his hand on Banhammer’s shoulder gently before squeezing tight, “Be on your best behavior now, alright?”
Banhammer meets the inphernal’s eyes before spitting on his face. He makes a disgusted sound and reels back, furiously wiping at his cheek.
“You brute! You- you-” he gasps, at a loss for words. Banhammer starts to smirk, but the demon punches him. Not expecting it, his head whips back. The pounding behind his eyes crescendos. He can taste blood.
“Disgusting. You false gods really are all the same.” With that, he turns on his heel and exits with a slam of the door. Banhammer is left with only his thoughts to occupy him.
Banhammer doesn’t know how long he stays in that room. Long enough to doze off and wake up again. Long enough for the pain in his head to be overtaken by an ache in his shoulders. He’s exhausted. It’s rarity for a demigod like him. He feels it weighing down on him, making it a struggle to keep his eyes open. He can only assume it’s the last effects of whatever he was drugged with working its way through his system.
He’s not sure what he expects when the door opens again, but it’s not the biografts from before. They move in tandem to unchain him. He struggles weakly as they push him to stand, arms still bound behind his back. When they pull him along, Banhammer has no choice but to follow.
He should be watching his surroundings, scanning for an opportunity to escape, but it’s already a near impossible trying to keep himself from stumbling. The biografts are uncaring, and continue on.
The outside is comfortable and soft compared to the interrogation room. The thick scent of incense fills the air. Plush carpet beneath his claws. The place could be considered lavish if it wasn’t so bare.
He’s led through the halls, the travel passing by in a blur of dark teal walls, and they stand him at a thick steel door. It stands out among the dark wood ones they went by on the way here. One biograft keeps a tight grip on his arm while the other opens it. They shove him inside without a sound, and he doesn’t even get a chance to look back before it shuts behind him. The clunk of several locks resounds through the room. They don’t even bother unchaining him.
Banhammer stumbles and finally collapses on the closest soft surface he can find. Planning an escape can happen tomorrow, when his thoughts aren’t full of fog. For now… He wants to sleep, and pretend he’s back home.