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Chapter W1 - Decision, Defense, Departure
🕑 Added 2018-02-27 17:09:25 +0000 UTC Corruption is retreating from this world. The tenebrous influences of the ungodly mass of curses has been extinguished, and peace can return to man once more.Yet, man seeks not peace.
Man seeks retribution, craves redemption, desires vengeance - through violence. Unbridled violence, directed at any and all that stands in its way. Once the enemies before one's eyes have been vanquished, what is there left to do? Will there finally be respite? Or does the blaze, once ignited, burn until all is consumed?
Five months have passed since The Cradle of Chaos, Demon Queen Pelomyx, has been defeated at the hands of the human strike force, working in conjunction with the gods. The Empire of Terminus, in an alliance with the Fatas Triarchy and the Elven Enclave, has invaded the demon continent with an army a million strong. Within weeks, this alliance reclaimed the lands that Emperor Lucianus IV had conquered during his final campaign against the previous demon lord, Aldeath.
The western holdings of the Dominion have been completely overrun, and the advancing humans are working tirelessly to exterminate every last demon they come across. With their queen gone and her heir missing, the demons have lost hope. And now, they are losing ground with every passing day, unable to muster a united defense.
In these desperate times, it seemed like an act of god that the Mineva Republic suddenly declared war on the Empire of Terminus. Since the latter had committed the bulk of its troops to the Demon Continent, they were now fighting an invasive and a defensive battle across two continents. Under normal circumstances they should have been able to easily repel this backstab, but since Emperor Lucianus V was at the demon frontier, orders were relayed much slower than normal, which caused many fatal delays.
That was when Lord Ophalen, one of the most fervently loyal followers of Queen Pelomyx, began to organize a counterattack. Garrisoned in Rodens, the fortress city to the south of the capital, he had been the first to notice the city in flames and tried to come to its aid. Unable to penetrate the barrier, he had expressed the most rage and frustration at failing to provide help. Swearing bitter revenge after his liege's death, he rallied the Four Great Clans under him in the capital of Arkaim.
Lord Ophalen has the head of a crocodile in place of a human's, with a metal lower jaw featuring saw-like teeth - as he lost his real one in the wars of the past. Dark brown scales indicating his advanced age cover his still muscular body, which has not waned with the years despite having far surpassed his kind's already long lifespan. He is a senior member of the Kirali clan, one of the Four Great Clans, consisting of lizard-type demons, albeit not its leader
Rising to prominence under Aldeath, he served two consecutive demon lords as a general during the wars against the humans, across more than a century of battles, after the Lucianus Dynasty of Terminus took an aggressive stance against the Dominion. Few would question his experience, which was honed through campaigns across the sea, defensive battles on demon soil, and many skirmishes against the barbarian demon tribes in the south.
"I'm against Lord Ophalen's leadership." The one protesting the otherwise unanimous decision to hand him the position of the supreme commander is the leader of an up-and-coming new clan among the demons. A slender figure cloaked in dark robes belies the power that rests in the lean body. Long black hair, blue eyes and pale white skin, a beautiful androgynous face, and a pleasant voice that could belong to either a soft-spoken male or slightly rough female, make it difficult to pinpoint both the age and gender. That is Ascelin Sheason, the vampire sovereign. "He has grown old and senile. His failure to protect the queen is testament to that fact."
"What?!" Crashing his fist on the massive wooden table and leaving a crack on its surface, Nilotec opens his jaws wide in a rumbling roar, to express his anger at Ascelin's assertion. As the son of Ophalen, he has a muscular figure brimming with both youthful strength and battle-hardened experience. Rough, bronze-colored scales cover his bare shoulders and arms, and yellow-green eyes with slit pupils like those of a predator, make him a prime specimen of his race. He was the champion of the fighting pits of Phoshand, where the most powerful members of the demon races would test their mettle, until he was called back by his father after the demon queen's passing. "How dare you upstart question the decision of the Four Great Clans!"
"Four Great Clans? They are a thing of the past." Ascelin speaks in a haughty tone. "They are either too old to speak for themselves, powerless, or absent."
Pointing at the one empty seat at the table, the vampire sneers at the other gathered people, most of whom know that they are too weak to retaliate. The three present members of the previously Twelve Great Clans - now reduced to a third of their numbers - have lost much of their influence since Queen Pelomyx claimed the throne after killing their leaders. The sole surviving leader from that generation is the one of the Kirali clan, an elderly man resembling a humanoid turtle. He is known for his peace-loving nature and long-winded deliberations, but not for standing up for his honor when it is being questioned or outright ridiculed.
"That does it!" However, Nilotec is less inclined to let it slide as the ramblings of an upstart clan with no political power. He jumps up from his chair and breaks it into pieces with a single strike of his powerful tail. With a mighty bellow, he fearlessly challenges Ascelin. "Step outside. I will have your head!"
"Calm down, Nilotec." A voice calls out to the raging crocodile from the door to the meeting hall, and everybody's heads snap around to the newcomer. It is Shugra from the Ajura - one of the Four Great Clans - heralding the arrival of their chief.
"Sorry for bein' late, there was somethin' I had ta take care of." Chandra Ajura steps past her lieutenant, her six arms spread out in a gesture of greetings. "Some folks tried ta ambush us, but we beat 'em up good."
"Ya wouldn't happen ta know these guys, would ya?" Shugra waves in two more members of the Ajura clan, who are each carrying two pale-skinned men and women in black suits like lifeless puppets. Each one of them is beaten black and blue, with one of them sporting a broken and dangling jaw, and another with an arm at an angle that suggests it has been twisted several times like a wet rag.
They are obviously all vampires.
"I do not." Ascelin shrugs and smiles innocently. "As someone here said, we are just an upstart clan. I have not yet achieved absolute control over all my people. A radical faction acting against the clan's official interests is, as of now, still unavoidable."
"That's a lie!" Nilotec's eyes open wide in anger as he points at the vampire sovereign with a clawed finger.
"Enough!" Ophalen, who has been sitting by quietly, finally raises his voice and reprimands his son. "We shouldn't fight among ourselves. That's what the humans would want."
"Now that Lady Chandra has arrived, we can settle on a supreme commander." A man with a pair of giant twisted horns growing from his forehead states. He has white hair, horizontal rectangular pupils and a long goatee, all assembled on an elongated and wrinkly face that has seen many years of service. His name is Markor, leader of the Bakari clan, demons with goat traits.
"I'm fine with it bein' the young croc." Chandra sits down on the chair that has been reserved for her and crosses her arms, before remarking casually. She still refers to him the same way she did the first time they met. "Or should I be saying 'old croc' now? Yer better suited for givin' orders."
"Is that alright?" The old croc in question turns his head to look at the six-armed, blue-skinned woman, skeptical about her spontaneous decision.
"Unless somebody's against it?" She shrugs and gestures at the gathering of clan leaders at the long table with one pair of her hands. Nobody objects and Ascelin remains quiet, knowing when to give up. "Guess not. Ya got the job then."
"Thank you, everyone." Standing up from his seat, Ophalen accepts his new position as the supreme commander. "But know this. This is only temporary, until the heiress to the throne returns to us."
"If she ever returns." Ascelin adds and earns glares from several of the assembled clan leaders.
"She will. I am confident in the success of the Maid Corps to bring her to the Kingdom of Lares, to thaw her out from the god's magic." Raising her voice for the first time, a giant woman in a maid uniform speaks up. She is the leader of the demon queen's personal Maid Corps, Rewera.
"Oh, Rewera!" Chandra jumps up from her chair and runs over to her, hugging the maid with all six of her arms. "I didn't see ya cause ya been so quiet! How ya doin'?"
"I am fine, Lady Chandra. You are disrupting the meeting." Speaking in a neutral tone, the maid leader does not show any hint of happiness at seeing her old friend again.
"Ya bein' cold. Is that how ya greet ya big sis after such a long time?" Poking her cheek with a finger, Chandra does not let up with her bone-creaking hug. When Aldeath had just gathered his companions on his journey to claim the demon lord's throne, Rewera had only been five years old. At that time Chandra was already serving under her brother as a trusted lieutenant, along with Ophalen's ancestor. In fact, she was the big sister figure to several of the gathered clan leaders' ancestors, which is why she has so much influence among them. She has remained the greatest constant throughout many centuries of the Dominion's history.
"C-can we please do this later... b-big sis?" Rewera pleas and stutters like a young girl. For a moment, everybody is dumbfounded, while Chandra lets go and laughs out loud.
"Alright, let's get this started." Turning to the gathered demons, the Ajura clan leader states with a wide grin.
"Where are the reinforcements?" A desperate voice shouts over the din of battle. The clashing of metal plays the twisted anthem of war and death, resounding from the walls and echoing into the city beyond it.
"There are none coming here. The western gate is taking the full brunt of it, so everybody's going there!" The guard captain, a bear demon clad in full armor, roars over everybody's heads. "We'll make do with what we got. Don't lose heart, the enemies are only humans!"
A cheer rises from the fighting soldiers and their morale soars again. The humans continue their relentless siege, bringing up two ladders for every one knocked down, while lumbering wooden towers are being pushed towards the city walls.
With a great crash, one of the siege towers is smashed into pieces by a projectile fired from a catapult. Another cheer runs through the soldiers that witnessed it and they fight with newfound hope. Following that, a shower of arrows comes down on the humans waiting to climb the ladders, causing a choir of screams as those who were unable to raise their shields in time are turned into pincushions.
"These humans are weak, we can do it!" The bear guard captain roars and swings his gauntleted paw to crush a human soldier's head, as it pokes up over the battlements.
Suddenly, a blinding burst of light fills the sky above the wall. From within it, a volley of javelins made of pure light comes down on the defenders, and each one pierces through both armor and the flesh it protects. Several officers, including the bear captain, are killed in an instant, and the entire momentum of the battle shifts in the favor of the humans.
Descending from the skies are a dozen people with pure white wings, wearing robes and dresses of the same color, which are richly embellished with golden embroidery. Some look upon the carnage below with indifferent expressions, while others sneer at the effect of their magic on the demons' morale. They are Fatas, the representatives of the humans' gods.
Effortlessly, almost casually, they chant in an arcane language and a javelin of light appear over each one of them. Releasing the projectiles, they claim a dozen more lives, further throwing the defenders into despair. The archers on the ground are unable to reach them with their arrows, and there are no flying demons in this city who could intercept them.
With the relentless aerial assault, the demons on the wall are thinned out enough for humans to reach the top of the ladders in several points. What was a top-down battle only moments ago suddenly turns into a messy melee, as the two sides clash on even footing. The defenders, with quality over quantity, desperately try to push the overwhelming numbers of the humans back, while the human soldiers fight with increased fervor to secure a bridgehead for their troops to follow up.
The volleys of light javelins soon destroy the catapults that were able to keep the wooden siege towers away. While some get hit by flaming arrows and begin to burn, several of them make it all the way to the wall. Drawbridges crash onto the battlements and are secured with hooks. The humans that pour out begin to overwhelm the demons holding the top of the walls.
"The walls have been taken!" A demon officer screams in despair, and all semblance of a defensive line crumbles under the onslaught. At the same time, the gate is broken open by the battering ram, its operators left unchecked by the archers on top of the gates who are busy being embroiled in a melee. Then, even cavalry begins to storm the city.
"Do not despair!" A female voice echoes in the minds of the demons and humans alike, and for a moment, everybody stops dead in their tracks.
Then a volley of javelins made of pure darkness shoots across the sky, several of them finding their targets in the Fatas flying high over the battlefield. Two of them are pierced through the torso, one loses a leg and another an arm, while the others either have their wings shredded or dodge just in time. The dead fall from the heavens and are brought down to earth, their perfect bodies broken, and their white purity stained by the blood and mud covering the battlefield.
"What was that?!" Screaming in a most unsightly voice, one of the three remaining Fatas looks around in terror.
Suddenly, an explosion of fire sweeps through the streets and blows the advancing humans back outside through the broken gate. With a mighty roar, a dragon covered in a red carapace appears from within the flames, its winged front legs spread wide to intimidate the oncoming troops.
"The counterattack beings now." The voice echoes through everybody's minds once more, and some finally notice who it is coming from.
High in the sky is a female figure in a revealing black dress with pale white skin, flying on a pair of jet black wings that seem to project pure darkness. In her hand is a long golden spear covered in runes that emit a tangible power. At her sight, a cheer runs through the demon forces.
"It's Lady Hestia, the Black Valkyrie!"
"Lady Hestia has arrived!"
"The Black Valkyrie is leading us into battle!"
Those near the red dragon shout something else entirely, as they behold the majestic figure of the winged creature known to hold an ancient power no mortal could hope to stand up to.
"Lady Dregana, the Kinslayer is here!"
"The Kinslayer will stop the humans!"
"With Lady Dregana here, we can turn this around!"
As those voices grow louder, the momentum that the humans began to build up only moments ago is instantly reversed. With newfound vigor, the demon soldiers unleash the last bit of their power reserves, as they push back the soldiers on the walls and round up those that already invaded the city.
"Traitor!" The remaining Fatas repeatedly shriek in a hysterical choir and summon javelins of light to shoot at Hestia. The latter flies forward and brandishes her spear, swinging it in an arc before her. From its tip, a jet of fire forms into a wave of heat that cuts through the air.
Before the Fatas can release their magic, Hestia's spell reaches all three of them and engulfs their shapes in a relentless blaze. White wings and white clothes burn away in seconds, as the screams of agony disappear in the fire. Moments later, the winged beings disappear as ashes scattered in the wind.
At the same time, Dregana charges through the human soldiers fearlessly, throwing men covered in full armor around like ragdolls with every swing of her powerful winged legs and her armored tail. Breathing flames at the siege towers still approaching the wall, she reduces them to cinders, while spears and arrows break on her impenetrable carapace like sticks on solid rock. Within moments, the battlefield turns into a sea of flames, in which humans run for their lives as the demons chase in righteous ardor.
Taking to the skies to join Hestia, the two leave the battlefield to go to another location where the defenders are losing ground.
Standing at the precipice of a steep cliff, at the edge of a canyon cutting through the wasteland like a gigantic scar, a lone dark elf basks in the evening sun. Night-blue hair swaying in the wind, violet irises with a faint glow, she is a figure of paramount beauty.
The only issue lies with her right arm, hanging down almost all the way to the ground. It stands in stark contrast to the rest of her body, not only because it is of a bright red instead of the dark purple that is her normal skin color, but also because it is shaped like the elongated claw arm of a fiddler crab. Rounded knobs run along the inside of the pincer, but sharp spikes line the outer side of the entire arm.
It is a grotesque symbol of violence, a testament to the fact that this dark elf is not as delicate as her appearance would otherwise suggest.
"Kamii." A deep and rough male voice calls out to her from behind. The girl in question turns around to the people gathered there.
They are a group of demons, wearing different kinds of outfits and equipment, ranging from full armor to simple clothes. There is a giant minotaur with a broken horn, wearing body armor that seems to be made of solid granite. A woman with her face covered by a grinning mask, wearing a hooded robe that sports long sleeves drooping all the way to the ground, is tilting her head playfully. Even a child with whiskers and long, fur-covered ears, carrying a massive sword broken at the halfway point, is among them.
"Where we goin'?" The owner of the voice asks. He is a man with a rugged face, showing the scars of many battles and suntanned from a life on the road. A red Mohawk stands upright on his otherwise clean-shaven head, and tusks are sticking out from the corners of his mouth, which give him a wild appearance. His leather jacket has many pockets and sheaths for the plethora of knives in his arsenal, and a battle-axe rests in his hands.
Kamii's eyes are filled with a serene grace as she contemplates the question. Then she turns to the canyon and points with her cursed right arm, a determined gesture to indicate their next destination.
"To Zohigal." She announces.
"Umm... Zohigal is in the other direction." The man corrects the little dark elf's mistake. For a moment, the wind is the only sound among the ragtag group, as Kamii turns around to look at the man with a blank expression.
"To Zohigal." Pointing in the right direction, she acts as if nothing happened, and begins to walk along the edge of the cliff. Everybody suppresses their laughter as they follow her lead.
To the capital of the barbarian tribes in the south of the Demon Continent.
