Children of Terra

~Many months since Glutton's rise~ ~First ring, Limbo~ ~War-fields of Asphodel~ ~Pruflas, Duke-in-name-only~ It'd been studied after the birth of Vassago and the metamorphosis of Bael-into-Beelzebub; of the mechanics how such is achieved. The common cause was in the human mother, the Goetian. Spies of Pruflas -- both demon and human -- had spirited the deep rings for remnants of her body for analysis. The working theory is she and her sister had been heavily steeped in ritualized fervent; quintessentially a vessel for the magicks of Goetia to impart their desires.       The implication being demons are most suited to receive (or are compatible with) such impositions.       Regardless to how such a feat was abetted, the fact remains ever since Beelzebub congealed within himself much of the freestanding aether; subterfuge, assassinations, and general hostilities against Limbo had been increasing.       Seir's later birth only hastened the fervent of war -- the 8th prince of hell. Really, the only thing stopping an outright subjugation and extermination of Limbo were the vast legions at Pruflas' command. His military capacity far outstripped most of the disorganized rings combined. Again, likely due to the inherent chaos of the deep rings slowing organized coalitions large enough to counterweight Limbo.       The firstborn Duke could no longer journey beyond the deep rings without heavy escort, and even then without spilling blood. Immediately, this meant he could no longer service the binds upon Lucifer, and so lead to a refocus on the efforts of Limbo: to position within the ever-changing balance of the 9 rings.       On a day of tenuous peace later, the scholar-academics of Limbo came across an epiphany observing the new dead crossing Acheron: the 9 rings are a gaol upon only a section of the human population. There was indeed a recognition of the veil about the rings; but no probe could be sent beyond, and no conjecture about the lands-could-never-be-seen.       Such an idea that other constructions existed within the mighty aethers of the underworld was heavily debated. The tales of the Saxons of a battle-heaven or the lands of Saracen of bountiful virgins were simply discarded out of hand for one reason -- none of the human undead could leave the 9 rings to observe such places.       It would have to be up to demon-ilk to see such. This also lead to a push for ecumenism from the centuries-and-cultures-myriad inhabiting Limbo now. The sophist-cynics worked tirelessly to cultivate the grim understanding that in any case couldn't be denied: the sinners and demons of the 8 other rings gnashed to feast on the 1st.       Pruflas was walking the demarcated fields of Asphodel when a new tremor of great aether washed on all the land. The power equaled Beelzebub's awakening, but this miasma cultivated a great sense of yearn and loss among the troops. Many became irate at the shit hand they were dealt; and clamoring began to break in the ranks of the 1st legions. ~Days since the second miasma~ ~In the office of the Duke~ Pruflas sat in his office poring over scrolls. The troops were disquiet, combined with the daily influx of spies that needed culling, made the attrition rate of the legions rather disheartening. And this was before any true invasion of the lower rings.       A male demon servant knocked at his wooden door, bringing tiding of a caller. Pruflas was a bit irate, spitting: "If it is no less than the King, send this caller away! I have no time for any I do not already know, nor especially my brothers!"       "This demon claims equal to the King, lord . . . He -"       Before the servant could finish, a large hand pulled him away from the door; and in stepped a behemoth of physicality. He had to bow under the door, and even upon straightening, had to cock his head at an angle. This human-looking man was gigantic, easily 1 3/4 paces tall of bundled muscle. He was dressed in the finest of silks with Pruflas internally impressed at the wealth of such an item in the 9 rings. His hands were encrusted with rings of the cleanest inset jewels; the clink of multiple coin bags marking his slightest movements.       Most of all was the miasma-aura, same in strength to Beelzebub, but a different hue. Pruflas opened his mouth to speak, but the demon cut him off.       "Mammon." The demon walked over to a bottle of pomegranate wine, uncorking it with a thumb flick and taking a swig. "Phfew-Augh! Goat piss!" -- he flung the bottle at Pruflas with a shit-grin. Thaumaturgy suspended it a foot again from the Duke's face, wine like a nebulous purple between the two.       Pruflas took a measured breath before speaking, "Mammon. And how may I -"       "You may provide me with legionaries, foods of your land, and your finest baubles."       Pruflas allowed himself a sigh -- Mammon taking a scroll from his silken robe and tossing it to the desk in front of the Duke . . . The numbers! Right on the front! Pruflas looked up at Mammon, menacing through his teeth: "What the fuck joke are these numbers?!"       "That, Duke-ling failure, is the price of your tolerated existence." The miasma that flowed from Mammon put Pruflas back a half step. The Duke tensed with indecision on whether or not to put up with this farce before looking back at the giant. Nothing good would come of defiance this early. We must be better positioned.       Through gritted teeth the Duke spat: "Fine."       Mammon laughed as he turned, scooping in his arms as much of useless shit in the office as he could before leaving. Pruflas looked back to the terms on the scroll, letting his thaumaturgic control break; wine spilling on the desk with a splattering of spice-scented dishonor.       The legionary rate would flip negative under most conditions, and only massive surges of undead might push it to just neutral.       So they wanted to play this game, then?! Pruflas called the servant demon in. "Summon Hector and Aeneas. Quick." He resumed his seat at the wet desk, a pulsing beat on his brow.       The two Trojans entered after a while, their gaits showing a slight measure of surprise. Pruflas bid them sit. "We are being assailed of our main advantage, my warriors. This cannot go on for much longer than a year. I countermand all prior standing orders and issue anew: You are to begin sending the least loyal provocateurs in tithe-cohorts this Mammon demands."       Hector looked at the wine-soaked rippled scroll laid on the desk. "Mammon, Lord? Would that be the goliath we saw on the way out? I'm pretty sure I saw him stuff an entire weapon rack in one of his pouches."       Pruflas' eye twitched as he slowly nodded. "The birth of Mammon has expounded the disloyalty factor among the troops. Among the inherent difficulty in converting such massive numbers, and the dangers I know you both understand in treachery; it would serve us well to rid the dissent early under this excuse. I have faith in your judgments. Strengthen our legions by culling out the gifts."       Aeneas looked at his comrade, Hector nodding in newfound understanding of the gravity. A war as bad as that, then? The Trojan survivor spoke: "So he is the reason for the uptick in discordance? This Mammon?"       "Yes. I wasn't sure if that was a power of my father's until I saw Mammon personally. His miasma certainly brings out the wants people lack most, to the surface. I trust you know then what to prioritize in the compromised."       They gave respects as they left. Pruflas standing to look back out on the Asphodel fields. The demons were many things repugnant, but their mastery over the rots in the hearts of men among the most devious. He would need to increase council to every lunar cycle, if not more. ~Many lunar cycles since Mammon~ ~The first ring, Limbo~ ~Duke's council~ ~Pruflas, sequestered Duke~ The various disruptions in the year since Beelzebub's rise had greatly shaken Limbo. Had it just been Pruflas, there was every likelihood Limbo would be a dead ring by now. But, to the Duke's immense satisfaction, the think tanks in this room and about his ring had not only weathered the tithes, assassinations, subterfuges, and espionage; they strengthened the core of the might of Limbo. It surely peeved the lower demons at this resilience, they not daring a full assault with so many of humanity's veterans. Every month that passed only gave more time for the legions to train, to grow, to weed the disruptive onto the lower rings.       Pruflas laughed as he heard the reports of his council. "Truly, I thank you all for your service. Not to me, but to the people, the land. I can see the greatness you wrought in life bearing down on the lower rings like a bull of Minos!"       Plato allowed himself a smile along the rest before speaking: "Lord, we believe to have a working understanding of breaking past the veil."       Pruflas, interested then, leaned forward and bid him continue.       Plato spoke, "We know from the reports on the 9th ring and the portal at the terminus. Given the observations at Acheron and by Charon, it is thought that sufficient ambient aether will allow demons passage through designated points in each of the rings. Specifically, the helio-cardinal points where the veil is thinnest. In simple terms for quick dissemination to the allied-forces: the farthest points in the rings from the central through-passages."       Pruflas considered this, before following up: "And under what conditions and how much aether would be needed to suffuse the veil?"       "Each of these new-type Demons -- Beelzebub and Mammon -- that is birthed in the aether rends a ring of its veil. We suspect but are unable to confirm that the 3rd and 4th rings already allow passage to beyond the 9 rings. Without self-sabotage of this information to the lower demons, we dare not risk test this."       "So, a sword of Damocles then. The more of these uplifted tyrants are born, the greater our passage to beyond. And the greater our chances of an attack. Any drop in the infiltrators?"       Caesar spoke: "No lord. If anything, they increase out of desperation."       "Good. I think we all know that once they stop, the invasion begins. Continue to send our own saboteurs, have them focus on assassination. We want them to think we need the arch-demons dead. And for clarity, make the attempts genuine. Even if we succeed in killing one, we gain from any outcome."       Hector decided to speak through the contemplative silence. "My lord, I find these tactics unbecoming. They are bereft of honor and valor."       "I understand, and I gently remind you I am your demonic overlord. You are dead, Hector. And to the rest that agree with him; I know he isn't lone of thought. Think of this as your own punishments. For what it may, I do agree with your assessment."       Hector stood, "Then why?"       "Because our foe is not human, Hector. And neither am I." Pruflas decided to ring his voice with thaumaturgy, making it echo in the room enough to billow dust around. Everyone looked at him, then; that realization of whom they were sworn to reaffirmed. "I think you all have forgotten where you are, and what I am." Pruflas stood. "I guarantee you that in my veins flows the same blood as the ones down below. I do ache for you all, I do. But do not let yourselves be deluded: They will visit upon you far worse than me! You must understand one thing, if you take my word at all. Do you, Hector? Do you take my word?"       He sat, ruffled, but relenting. " . . . I -- I do, lord."       Pruflas looked at each of his council before emphasizing his point. "Count on one thing: Change. None of our lives -- unlives -- will return to before this. You must understand me. The demons will come from below. They will enact some vengeance on Limbo. And none of you will be the same after. I am aligned with you. Believe upon that, if you won't believe me."       He sat down, not in the mood to demand subservience from his council. He didn't need tools, he needed them to remember their own humanity. It was the only thing that separated them from the rings below. "If that is all, then you may be dismissed, my council. May you count on yourselves through this."       The mood had indeed grown dour in the passing days. Pruflas regretted immensely how he handled it, agonizing how he could have done better. He took upon new research in an effort to clear his mind. ~Months later~ ~On a non-particular day~ ~Limbo~ ~Pruflas, sequestered Duke~ A great rumble that surpassed even Mammon's awakening shook Limbo. Many of the war tents collapsed in Asphodel, trees in the far off Pruning Woods timbering, and great crashing noises could be heard beyond River Acheron. Something was happening.       The disoriented legions formed confused phalanxes facing the Pruning Woods, Pruflas racing down from his castle. Great scrapings sounds could be heard in the Woods: trees felling and dust-clouds above the canopies signaling an approach.       The legions readied, as the dark mass broke treeline to resolve itself. Shouts rang out among the legions at the sight: 'By Jupiter's Cephalonian balls! What is that!?'       It was a serpentine sea snake, so vast they could not see the end of it within the Wood line. The beast reared up high to survey the arrayed legions below, before crashing down in a blazing slither.       Shouts and spear-shields formed at the advance, Pruflas running to gain a vantage on a distant hill. The great serpent was at least 120 paces long, the sleek muscles of its body writhing as it crashed into the lines, crushing scores with every twist and turn. Rapid flails undulated the inertia of that multi-ton body, rolling tents -- bodies inside -- into gyrii and gore.       It had dropped at least two cohorts in a moment's time before Pruflas could gather enough concentrated magic to hurl as a lance at the beast. The point of it shattered on the hide of the serpent, but indeed stopped the writhing ruin of the legions. The beast turned its baleful yellowed eyes on Pruflas, gliding forward to him with frightening speed. None of the legions could abate the sidewinder as it battered aside the mortals to its new target.       The Duke prepared another spell, waiting for a sure chance, before the serpent broke off about 45 paces from the base of the hill. It rounded instead, encircling Pruflas in a tightening wind, until he was closed in a space of about 4 paces. Trapped, he tensed his legs. The serpent reared its head to just above his eye level, looking at him with imperious hate.       It spoke then: "Ah, you must be the dear Duke-ling. I fancy met, Your Grace." The noise it emitted was enough to make Pruflas involuntarily shudder. The fresh gore from legionaries slipped off the scales, making a horrific smell and squelching piles. He became conscious of the heat its body emanated around him, suffocating under the scrutiny.       He mustered to speak: "You are?"       "Leviathan, Your Grace. I quite envy the attention your family begets with you, you know. It made me so jealous I had to see your person myself . . . " The great serpent bared down on him, its fangs peeking from the head. Pruflas was shaken by the predatory eyes fixated on him, paralyzed. It studied him within an arm's reach with one eye, then the other -- each constricting -- before rising. "Yes, I can see the fascination. You are . . . different."       The serpent unwound then, easing to about 24 paces away.       Pruflas realized he had been shaking, taking a breath to steady himself. "And what is it you want, Leviathan?"       It hissed in what could be assumed as amusement. "Nothing, lord. Or perhaps I'd say everything, I think. I shall feast on the aethers your existence gives off -- for now. Such exquisite enmity from your family. Ha! I could live off it, if only . . . "       It began to slither back through the shattered Woods, tongue lashing the air.       Pruflas sat down in a daze as he looked to his legion field. A single demon wiped out at least two cohorts in a moment of time. The morale damage would be something. He looked at his hands, wondering if he could even dent the full might of the 8 rings.       He grimaced at the thought of how many more freaks would be before this game was done.