Children of Terra

~Away and above~ ~The colorless land~ ~First Ring, Limbo~ ~Pruflas, Ducal firstborn~ The lands left to Pruflas were ones determined to be of least import to the demons. In other words, they left him the most mundane one, Limbo. The other rings held strong-willed people, and Pruflas had a suspicion that for all the demons' arrogance, it was they that were corrupted by the damned. He would at least see his pocket of land be sane.       Limbo was the largest ring by volume, but the souls here tended to be the least martial of the 9 rings. It was a boring land, the only demons being impid creatures that even untrained peasants could deal with -- as long as they were armed. Pruflas made his way into the keep to discuss things with his retinue; comprising some of the most ancient brilliance of the mortal world.       He took his seat in his office; a room of stone 12 paces by 9, filled with scrolls and arcane tooling for the study of the magick veils. It had an open balcony behind the primary desk, overlooking the fields of Asphodel. Beyond were the grand entrances to hell proper, the Pruning Woods where dispatches of workers went to clear impids from the path. Beyond the woods was the river Acheron, ferried by Charon.       He called for his attendant demonette, a sable haired lithe thing of smooth red skin. "Metile, get the councilors. It's time for their reports." He watched as she bowed and left; himself pondering on the true nature of demons. My brothers question nothing. Only Stolas has a mind other than rote; even he is tainted by the rest. Pruflas occupied himself with meditation on the veils as his council filtered in.       They took positions around the office, using the various chairs, stools, and lounge cushions about the place. Many were already aware of Pruflas' mage prowess, and needed little convincing of his Ducal title. He waited until the last was in before standing. They all stood as well, giving a greeting in their tongues, before sitting down more relaxed.       Pruflas began: "I want to start light today. Spending time with my brothers makes me restless of mind. So; Ptolemy, have you found the headwaters of Acheron?"       Ptolemy gave a slight bow, "Yes and no, lord. We finally tracked the terminus of both ends, with the grace of Charon, and it firmly goes to and from the veil. There are no means to pass without being . . . well, the aether is an unkind thing, lord."       "Very well. Thank you. And you Julius? Does the cultivation yield anything?"       The great Caesar nodded his head, "All the crops we know in life grow in the Asphodel fields, none of them possessing true flavor. It was optimistic."       "As long as it staves the madness of boredom. Very well, go about the regiment training as you see fit."       Caesar quirked a smile, "I did not say I found it unbecoming, lord. If I may, I would assign a permanent stewardship to keep the fields tended."       "Granted." Pruflas sighed as he read through the next reports. "And these?" Pruflas indicated reports of the undeniable: a steady increase in the strength of the aether. A minute change in the short term, even ebbing at times. While projected to decline on the surface, what was most concerning were the signs of strengthening-by-propagation in the 9 rings -- suggesting the damned were related somehow.       Plato spoke then: "As you see, lord, the signs of aether are trending higher. It will suffuse even Limbo within 3-4 hundred years. The effects of that on demon physiology are still being tested, but we suspect it will have a deleterious effect on human souls in time."       Pruflas thought back on being in the 9th ring. "Plato, Aristotle, I suggest you expedite the research. You have leave to recruit among Limbo. I know for certain the aether strengthens me, and I have a suspicion it will erode the spirits of humans."       Aristotle spoke then, "My lord, it is true then? The movements of your brothers . . . ?"       "Yes, Aristotle. To all of you. My brothers have likely observed the boon of the aether and are actively beginning to hoard it for themselves. There will likely be conflict among them as they try and carve new niches out. Julius, Hector, Aeneas, gather as many war-minds as you can to begin preparing for war. The one thing we can count on is their hatred of me; by extension you. 'Si vis pacem, para bellum.' And good luck to you all."       Pruflas raised a glass of pomegranate wine, muted in flavor. They the same in response. It had been shown long ago that Limbo as a whole was a target of enmity, and nothing would change that; especially now.       Caesar spoke after the room had fallen into silent fixations. "Lord, what should we expect?"       "What is the worst case scenario?"       "In what priority, lord?"       "The worst."       "All of hell united against us."       Pruflas set his glass down, looking at Caesar. "And?"       "Traitors in our midst."       "Go on."       "And they already know and are prepared."       Pruflas smiled. He looked at each of his close council in the face before continuing. "Then we should expect that at minimum, and even worse in truth. Our main advantage is being right where they want us. It will be difficult to maneuver from here, but any other way is utter death for us all. Internalize this, make sure the garrisons know. We fight or we die. That is all. Dismissed."       He waited for the office to clear, before loosing his cravat; and stepping to the balcony. As he leaned, looking over the Asphodel fields, his maid Metile came up behind him with a gentle arm squeeze. He took her hand in his, softly kneading it. "You should go Metile. There is still time for you to claim defection, before their suspicion closes that door forever."       She looked over the fields. "I made my choice, Duke."       "My answer is still the same. We can't bring a child into a situation like this. If -- once -- they find out . . . "       "I still would rather brave that choice together, Duke."       Pruflas took her chin in his palm, and looked her in the eyes. "You know this is death for you. And you still choose?"       She looked at him with that expression. "I made that choice long ago, my Duke."       He decided to put off more research for another time, and pulled her into a kiss. ~Many lunar cycles later~ ~At the summons of the King~ ~The Capitol Dis~ ~Pruflas, Ducal firstborn~ He always hated descending through the rings. It became hard to tell where the lines between evils of the tormented and evils of the tormentor crossed. Like a perpetuating cycle. But, a summons of the King can't be ignored without consequence. He walked down familiar halls, past the chambers of the princes, to the audience hall.       Dis was built to be imposing, so large few souls could navigate it without fatigue. Pruflas was a demon, however, and he could internalize aether to use it for vitae. He opened the grand doors to the sight of Bael on his throne. Immediately, Pruflas could see much more energies wafting from the wizened demon. Looking to the concubine Goetian, Pruflas could see the torrents about her as well.       Noticing his gaze, the King rose his bejeweled hand, beckoning Pruflas closer. Bael spoke, "You noticed, then? My concubine is pregnant. I have already decided the name. He will be Vassago. There is no doubt he will be a fine prince."       Future-vision? Must've been Ipes or Stolas. Pruflas took his place below the King. "You summoned, father?"       "Coy, are we? Then I will give you one chance to admit guilt, beg for forgiveness."       Already? What a farce. "I make many mistakes, fa-"       Bael slammed his fist on the throne, the pressure of energy released making the guppy nobles shudder. "Silence! You tempt devastation to us all! What foolish idea got into your head!?"       Setting up a narrative, but still too early to say which counter to use. Pruflas decided to just grimace it out.       "Still won't admit it!?" Bael made sure to make a show of it, leaning forward, arms out. "By the rings, why would you dare to release Him!?"       Pruflas was shocked, paled. That was not a move they expected, at least so soon. "That's insan-"       Bael roared, "It was only by good fortune Ipes could divine your intention, warn me, and thwart your subversion of the chains! You would ruin us all by doing that! Invite crusaders to butcher us to the last!"       Shit, he front ran the narrative. The murmurs around the hall were already showing signs of spreading, doors opening, sounds of running. Pruflas had to play the game for now. "It is demon way to subterfuge, father."       "I should have you killed. I will instead have you procure another. It was divined by Ipes that the Goetian has a sister. You will find her. And you will bring her to me."       "Yes, father."       "And Pruflas?"       "Father?"       "No games. Or I torch your little playpen."       "Yes, father."       Pruflas noticed the increase in energy around his father, the effects already showing. Bael had a darkness about him, a hunger in his eyes. The firstborn made to leave, going the long way up, but Bael bid him stop.       "No, Pruflas. You will go through the veil portal in the 9th ring. Charon can have one less ferry for today."       Pruflas turned, demon-fire in his eyes a moment long enough for the concubine to gasp. "Thank you, father." ~Through the portal down~ ~In the topside up~ ~A frigid village~ ~Pruflas, demon~ The very deepest point of the 9th ring was a confluence, where the forces of the veil and the aether compressed into distilled refractory essence. It had many uses, but among the most convenient was traversal. Pruflas sunk into the portal, searching for the Goetian signs he had been shown. Finding them wasn't the hard part. It was manifesting. The humans of this time had little in the way of aether control, and needed many naturalis aids to focus the aether fine enough for Pruflas to pass through.       He reached through the multifaceted void, grasping the tear in reality as a ledge to pull himself through. No matter how skilled the summoner, a demon had to put work in getting into real space. The yawing jaws echoed with the strain of belching a demon, until Pruflas finally manifested, dropping foot first to the floor.       The shack was wooden, furniture upturned and to the sides of the room. Snow could be seen falling through boards and sills of the windows and doors. The few humans were looking up at him in awe and fear. Pruflas adjusted himself, before asking, "There is a Goetian sister. You know which. I demand her."       A woman looked at him, "She is separated, lord."       "Where?"       "There was another Saxon raid, lord. They took the young. In the village center."       Pruflas looked to her. "And I was summoned for no other purpose?"       She trembled, as though she were under a test. "No, lord."       Without another word, Pruflas strode from the shack. The land and sky were both snowed, the trees and bushes winter-deadened. The shack was by a frozen creek, the snow acting as a temporary reprieve from the village view. Pruflas was not one for stealth, not as long as his magic served. He snapped his fingers, hearing sparks whiz down to the snow.       As he made for the village, a Saxon guard shouted alertness at the arrival, drawing his short bow, arrow nocked. The Saxon fired once other raiders were beside him. Pruflas used a thaumaturgic wind gust to knock it aside, before gathering snow into a dense spiral; flinging the icicle straight through a Saxon shield into chest.       The archer had little time to register shock before another icicle impaled his brain through the eye socket. ~Moments later~ In the village center, the Saxons had gathered all the potential young while they looted the valuables. The prettiest villagers were already being decided in loot-weight. One younger villager, a female of red-rouge hair and distinct face, was being inspected by a Saxon. The eye glint was obvious. She was seconds away from spitting when shock came over the man. He staggered back, drawing the attentions of the others; some laughing.       The smiles stopped once the man began to burst blood from his mouth. He gurgled a shout through the fountain, the capillaries in his skin popping, making it appear as though he was bursting from the inside. Some of the Saxons took the girl for a witch, drawing their blades before a call outside the square rang.       "Face me, raiders! I shall be judge of your worthiness!" The accent was unusual, and they turned to behold demon! The ears and teeth of a foul spirit! They looked to each other before charging, determined. Some made it to within 9 paces before their ankle bones sprouted growths, others found their own intestines snaking and thrashing in their body cavity. That particular sight was horrific -- the limp body convulsing and writhing as the sounds of skin shearing poured adrenaline into the survivors.       With every wave of his hands, Pruflas wove a new death in a Saxon; a maestro mortis. That fear of the unknown began to make the Saxons flee. Pruflas knew better than to knowingly let survivors live. It only spread more rumors and embellishments.       None survived with a body pristine. Holes steamed; hot blood melding into the snow, reflecting the still burning fires in the village. Some of the others Pruflas tested with new spells, the bodies twisted and shorn from immense force.       Pruflas sighed. It had been probably an hour since arriving. At least 30 dead among the Saxons. He strode to the village center, his eyes detecting the sister. The red-rouge haired one. He undid her binds with thaumaturgy, bidding her up.       "Come on, doe. You have been chosen to join your sister."       She looked somewhat dazed, the display of magic yet much for a mortal used to only the barest traces.       Pruflas took her in a princess carry -- this was a waste of time. He thought of killing her to delay his father's plan; but doing so would only make his people suffer. He had to play the game for now. She was light, even at a guess to her weight. From the shimmer about her, Pruflas could no doubt see the boon for his father in her blood.       The surviving Goetians began to emerge from their hiding spots like herbivores, looking at the display of gore around. They were desensitized. These times were harsh, and dead bodies nothing new. The fear, like always, was in the unknown. To them, a single demon had wiped out an entire band of Saxon raiders. With naught but the forces they couldn't see.       Pruflas sucked his teeth as he went back through the portal.