Children of Terra

-Death-

~A land of fire~ ~And vast demon holds~ ~The Capitol Dis, Pater Inferus~ ~The firstborn prince~ Pruflas had awoken with anger on hearing news of his brothers' return. He shooed away the demonette hand maids, scowling as he adjusted his suit in the mirror of his bedroom. The tidings of his fool brothers always made his day worse. Fools! The lack of any care beyond self-interest. It would be their undoing, all of them. He had to talk with father again. The king was always so brooding and slow to act, slow to punish bad tidings.       . . . Not as though he expected the king to do anything today, either. Pruflas had to think on alternatives. He knew the game of court, and he knew his brothers were all aligned against him -- at least. They might pull each other in check to maintain favor with their father, curry among lesser demons; but against the firstborn Prince, the effete Prince, the mage-lover -- they were aligned.       Finished, he looked in the mirror. Thin and lean, yes; but not weak. Pruflas still exhibited the traits of demonic royalty: the pointed ears scant longer than human, sharp fangs of teeth, serpentine eyes of yellow, angular and seductive -- perhaps hinting at incubi in the ancestry. His blood was still noble; to his face few of the lesser castes dared to mock him.       No, what was more concerning was the renewed alliances of the brothers. Demons were a fickle fucking race; always backstabbing, always murdering, always betraying. Pruflas was reminded of a human saying: 'Boiling crabs always pull each other down.' Their new collusion made him uneasy.       He billowed out from his room, glaring the lesser demon and demonette staff as he made for the audience hall. He could already hear the murmurs inside before he pushed open the grand double doors -- the guard demons ignoring him. The talking in the hall fell silent as he entered, echoes of arguing fading. It was normal for the princes to bicker, even in court. Pruflas looked to each of his brothers, see what he could from body language. Gloating, proud of whatever it was they found.       The 5 princes were knelt before King Bael, in order of their succession: Ipes, Sytry, Gaap, Orobas, and Stolas. Pruflas walked and knelt at the firstborn spot, left of Ipes; glowering.       Ipes -- 2nd -- spoke out of turn, "Your dukedom, welcome. We were just telling father about a band of Goetians that offer quite a boon - "       Pruflas cut him off, "You joke, Count. We are mightier than that, taking scrap from dreg. Surely our thaum- "       Gaap -- 4th -- spoke up then: "My Duke, we should recount the offer once more for you first. You judge in haste."       Sytry -- 3rd -- supported: "Yes duke, the offer benefits our father well. You would be so callous?"       Orobas -- 5th -- decided to declare his allegiance as well: "You should heed them, duke. We benefit."       Only the youngest -- 6th -- Stolas did not speak. Pruflas looked to him, asking: "And you, Stolas? Is this offer truly to our benefit?"       Stolas replied after a moment, all eyes on him: "I see omens of favor, duke. We should listen . . . "       Ugh, these bastards. I'll have to think on a parry. Pruflas extended his arm in deference, "Please forgive me, let me hear this proposal that benefits father."       Ipes smiled, baring his needle fangs. "As we were discussing, the Goetians offer a witch woman. Powerful bloodline, likely one from antiquity. Exceedingly rare. A virgin to boot. They offer her as consort to our father, in return for our support in their bold gambit."       Pruflas sucked his lip. "First, human blood would taint us. Second, she would have to be quite a prize to justify a concubine. And third, what do these Goetians want in return?"       Gaap spoke up: "Military support for a venture to beat back an invasion force of 'Saxon barbarians.' The Goetians are based in the Briton islands, and they fear a coalition of the Anglia and Saxon tribes. Apparently, the invaders are skilled in magia naturalis."       Orobas added: "President Gaap, Stolas, and I were discussing how best to aid the Goetians. Their gift to us has pleased father, and he sanctioned the three of us for deployment."       Pruflas looked up to his father, King Bael. The King sat bemused at the exchange, before snapping his fingers. His forte was invisibility magicks, and with the peal of his fingers, the veil covering the Goetian virgin lifted. She prostrated at the King's feet, her white garb just taut to show her budding body. A brunette of chestnut hair, azure eyes, full pink lips. A doe.       In truth, Pruflas was surprised Baal would accept a human concubine. He peered at the doe, ascertaining her for value. Among his brothers, he was the most gifted in the arcane, to the point he neglected martial training; and his eyes could discern the simmering power surrounding the Goetian. She would offer something in her progeny, yes.       Bael spoke, his voice hoarse and baritone: "Well, my firstborn? What do you think?"       Pruflas had to go off gut instinct. "I see no malice in her, father. She will concubine well."       "Very good. Gaap, Orobas, Stolas . . . support the Goetians. Pruflas, Ipes, Sytry . . . you three check the chains on Him. Another harrowing at this time would crush us. And don't disturb me, I will be busy with our gift. Aguares can deal with you. Begone!"       Bael vanished, along with his concubine.       The princes all stood, gathering in their posses. While subterfuge of each other was standard, they had orders from King Baal -- whose eyes were everywhere. Gaap, eldest among his three, looked to Pruflas with an air of haughtiness: "Well, Pruflas? It was Sytry that wooed the Goetians into giving her up. Few mortals can resist his charm . . . you should thank him."       Pruflas sneered. "I would but we must be off. You all heard father." He strode from the hall, Ipes and Sytry lagging to speak with their brothers. He made for the outskirt cliff of Dis, the barrier between the 6th and 7th rings. Mortals and their souls were subjugated thoroughly in the 9 rings, but demons -- especially high ranking ones like the Ducal firstborn -- could more easily navigate the layers.       Pruflas was fond of tactile magic, or the kind that manifested substance from aether. He was the best at thaumaturgy and true magia among his brothers and he continually trained his skill; something they took for boast. This time, he opted to descend the cliff using prehensile vines shot from his wrists, like rappelling. Previously, he would have some fear doing this. Now, his security in his magic prowess made the descent short.       He walked from the cliff side along the beach and crag stones to shores of Phlegethon, where the ancient Minotaur sat in vigil. The Minotaur only cared for goring humans; his favorite being Grecian. Pruflas shot an incandescent fireball in the sky, a deep azure comet to serve as a flare, and took up conversation with the honored maze torturer.       "So, Asterion, how go the tidings here?"       A deep bass of voice in reply: "It was common to see the same flavors of man for the longest time, Ducal heir. Lately, this century or two, new flavors come in more and more. I quite like the buffet."       Pruflas contemplated on what that signified. While in his consternation, voices from Dis above could be heard. He looked up, seeing his brother-retinue. Ipes opted to descend using his sword as a peg, gashing his way down with that peculiar smile on his face. Sytry simply unfurled his griffon wings and flew down. Sytry was too self absorbed at his own flight to talk, but Ipes -- once caught up -- spoke.       "That was mean, brother first. You could have summoned rope-vine for me; how did you descend then? Some new magic?"       Always probing for more. They like their barbs. Pruflas replied: "Rope-vine." This, added to a smirk, made Ipes scowl.       "We don't like you because of antics like this, you know."       "And, Ipes? Have you considered that if I did just use my magic in servitude, that you would all just take me for granted, a servitor for your whims? I can already see it. 'Pruflas, wine please. Oh, Pruflas, summon fingers to massage my feet.' You all are so narrow, and no matter how many times I say it, you never change."       Sytry defended him: "It pains me that we are related. Not an ounce of loyalty - "       Pruflas barked a laugh: "Loyalty! You mean acquiescence, only me to you. Don't be pedantic! You only want my aid, my help, my magic!" He would have said more, but a great centaur finally galloped across the stones of Phlegethon to them, bowing.       The centaur introduced himself: "Today, your lieges, I am Chiron. I shall be your ferry to the 7th ring." ~Bickering all the way~ ~Past the rings~ ~Before the prison deep~ ~Pruflas, Ducal firstborn~ He was worn. Direct exposure to his brothers made him want to just escape back to Limbo, converse with the mages up there and gain insight for his own magic. Alas, he had to suffer their incessant babbling through the 7th, 8th, and 9th rings. Around him was a barrier of magic, shimmering softly as chill winds from the depths battered upon it.       Ipes spoke up, Sytry having folded his griffon wings around himself. "Share some of that warming magic, you callous lout."       Pruflas called back: "Like I said before, it's not warming magic. It's just a seal that regulates air movement. Like a firm door in a house."       "Whatever. Pass it over."       "Give me a reason." Pruflas looked back at Ipes, knowing that asking for something was as close to disrespect as outright shame to the King. Ipes chose to scowl and tolerate the frigid winds. They were near the bottom anyway.       They passed the anterior ring to the prison, where the damned were frozen solid in twisted shapes, maximizing discomfort. Just past, in the deepest part where the air was coldest, lay a vast chamber many hundreds of paces in diameter. The very depths of hell, all to contain the first of fallen.       Pruflas exhaled, his breath immediately condensing into semi-permanent fog. He inspected the chains as they anchored from the walls about the place, to the naked man in the center. The man had every form of an angel, save his wings being discolored to sable, matching his raven shoulder-length hair.       Walking to the fallen man, Pruflas almost pitied the fact he was entombed waist-down, solid ice a sarcophagus. He looked at him, and the man looked back -- the arrogance in his eyes burning even still.       Pruflas spoke, inspecting the chains about the man's wrists and neck while: "Well, Heosphoros? Or should we call you Hesperus now? How do you fare in your punishment?"       The man turned his chin up. "They call me Lucifer now, those other epithets are from ages long gone, duke-ling."       Pointless. Nothing but death would make this guy repent. Pruflas cast another ward on the chains. He could see that the increasing aether in hell was beginning to wear on the ancient binds. Another thing to investigate. "Well, Lucifer. Who but you can blame your lot now?"       Lucifer cackled, apparently uncaring of the near-absolute-zero of his prison. He simply tested the chains again -- probably the millionth time -- before sighing. The act made a billow of mist plume from him, washing over the feet of the three princes.       Pruflas looked once more to the chains, before turning away. "Enough, the wards are restored. I must return to Limbo, wash my mind of you two."       Ipes and Sytry exchanged glances, lingering behind. It was time to carry out their real orders.       Sytry squatted before Lucifer, to be eye level. He spoke: "Bael sends a message. He agrees. We can begin working the wards off you. It will take a while. Damned firstborn and his conniving magic . . . " Sytry held a length of chain in his hands, inspecting the reinforced glyphs.       Ipes joined in: "We have wallowed so long in mediocrity. I look forward to when we can cleanse the ranks. The Duke's influence is poison to the demon folk. They actually want to stay in hell!"       Lucifer looked at them with a ferocity that made both go silent. He spoke, voice smooth tenor that promised endless agony, demanded absolute authority: "Bael has promise in the plan. Make sure he partakes of the Goetian. Her magic will uplift him, make him strong enough to fulfill the next part. Go, don't be fools. I hate fools."       The way Lucifer said it made no confusion of what would happen to the two if they failed. They got up and hurried to catch up to Pruflas, minds temporarily shaken.       There was work to do. Their Pseudomonarchy had grown too stale, too boring. It needed reforging.