Children of Terra

~Scant days after Leviathan~ ~Limbo, first ring~ ~Still-battered Asphodel fields~ ~Isolated Duke, Pruflas~ Once is troubling -- but a write off. Twice is a coincidence. After three of the newly-embodied Demons, Pruflas could see the maligns of the aether. Each one brought about malice and aura to fester the hearts of men. Beelzebub drove a gluttony for all things hungered; Mammon brought greed to the legions of Limbo; Leviathan made the humans envious of all the demons had -- and they not. Only the ministrations of the cynic-philosophers eased the slights and wants among the legion.       And the incorrigible sent out to poison the lower rings. At least the dead-flow from the mortal lands still continued. Things were bad up there as well; same as it ever was.       Pruflas could see the stings on his council, regardless of how well understood the malice inherent to the demons affected them. The divide between their existences was simply a barrier that would ever remain. He had to sigh, sitting alone in his office. It was then a pale-faced messenger burst through the door, decorum be damned. The Duke looked up, waving a hand for the report -- obviously necessary enough for no warning.       The messenger gathered his breath, tired from a long run, before speaking: "Lord, the subversions have stopped. I was told to look for this especially; to come here as soon as that was observed." He stood, fidgety for the next order from the Duke.       Pruflas took a deep breath, before thanking the messenger away. It begins. He called for dispatches to all his council. 'Disseminate the word: Limbo will go to war.' ~Immediate war-councils~ ~The Duke's Castle~ His troop Generals specialized in heavily defensive sieges and legionary fighting. Supplementary to this, the cunning councils of his scholar-academics provide novel directions with which to dispatch the lesser trained troops to more unconventional skirmishing. In a battle of men-to-men; Pruflas would have the upper hand. The real dangers lie in the inhuman troops sure to join against Limbo. He would be disadvantaged in a protracted war.       The councils came down to 2 main opinions: a dedicated defense-siege with retaliatory skirmishes throughout Limbo; or a punitive force to breach the lower rings as a buffer. Given the resources at play, Pruflas decided the former. Limbo had enough experienced resources to understand the greatest hurdle of past empires: over-extension. They had firm territory and would build tall.       Of course, that would be exactly what the lower rings would expect. And for his part, Pruflas didn't tell his council of his plans for aether-naut forces: certain demons, Duke included, would wait at each of the helio-cardinal points in Limbo. (Pruflas himself would wait for a signal.) The veil would eventually disintegrate, and these demons would begin a strike into the lower rings, assassinating any of import. The points would also serve as bolt-aways. No one really believed in victory -- only retribution.       Last was the most important consideration. It was sure at some point Lucifer would break his chains. The only other surety was a crusade from the scions of Heaven in response to this. Preparations were made for the armies of Limbo to comprise solely of human souls. Demons would be the skirmishing forces, ready to scatter at the weight of outside vengeance. It was really the only gambit, without making total enemies to the very last of all that witness.       Plans decided, the council ended.       For the last time. ~Three days later~ ~Quiet fields of Asphodel~ ~Pruflas, 1st prince of Hell~ Limbo had been ready for a time of this moment. It was layered for absolute guerilla tactics. Demon skirmish bands roved in stealth all about the outer lands; having set up hideaways, runaways, traps, tunnels, and false points. The human defenders held grand garrisons in the mirror of antiquity; beacons to draw enemy troops through killing fields not apparent.       The human undead that still poured in from above were given false camps within Limbo, towns of easy construction to give an air of humbleness. Only one give could be seen: Limbo -- knowing the governing structure would fall -- made sure these villages had enough farming 'equipment' and manufacturing for the humans to come to their own defenses. Save that, there was no indication for the humans to know of the tempest-eye they were currently in.       And it was on this day, three after the stoppage of overt subterfuge; the 4th Sin awakening happened. This miasma was felt by all, greater in power of the 3 prior awakenings (and after, yet to come.) Pruflas -- having been next to the source of this miasma before -- knew this one. His face paled. Lucifer! Mad bastards! We will have to split attention to the rear at all times for the Reckoning!       Barely had Limbo recovered from this dire revelation did the 5th awakening happen, like an aftershock of the power.       Lucifer's miasma reeked of his pride, his self-rightness. It crashed and reverberated all through Limbo -- and surely below -- rolling and cresting like a wave of air. In the midst of these reverberations came the 5th's aura; a miasma of rage, of wrath. It accented Lucifer's into a harmony of the peril before Limbo.       The stage was set as in a snapshot. ~A half-day from the 4th and 5th awakening~ ~Upon the Judgement Hall~ ~Lower Exit of Limbo~ ~Pruflas, 3/4 Demon~ The passage between Limbo and Lust -- 2nd ring -- was a judgement hall headed by Minos, with his brother Rhadamanthus and half-brother Aeacus. For a general division of labor: Rhadamanthus judged the orient-origin; Aeacus judged occident-origin. Afterward, Minos proclaimed the destination of the judged.       They declared a halt on judgments after seeing the sheer throngs coming from up below, fleeing to safety (anywhere else). Word of the armies was barely couriered ahead of time, many of the couriers dead in transit.       The great host was headed by the 5 arch-demons:       Beelzebub, lord of Gluttony. His army was winged, and Pruflas' heart sank at the asymmetry this promised;       Mammon, lord of Greed. His army was grandly equipped, preferring to flaunt wealth rather than sequester it;       Leviathan, lord of Envy. He commanded the most bestial of the demons; serpentine, aquiline, equine, et cetera;       Lucifer Morningstar, lord of Pride. His army looked the most 'unaffected' by the ravages of Hell. If you weren't aware of circumstance, it would be right at home in a grand army of life;       Satan Apollyon, lord of Wrath. His army was the smallest, but far the most disciplined, regimented. They marched tightly and orderly.       They together, almost inspired Pruflas. A magnetism of their combined miasma? He might have been tempted if he didn't then see the sub-armies. And his awful traitor-brothers at each head. Even the scant-year-old Vassago and the half-year Seir were present at the side-retinue of Beelzebub. The confidence and assuredness of them!       Pruflas watched them pour from the gate hall separating the ring Lust; forming ranks and divisions. Beelzebub raised a right hand, elbow bent. Then, the Duke saw his brothers march alone from the throngs, in parlay. He grit his teeth in a suction, before deciding to head out alone, unarmed. The Duke fought with magic! -- such was well known even long ago.       In a vast plain of Asphodel the brothers-at-war met. The first to speak was Gaap, the 4th prince: "The Goetians gave us much, brother. I think it would be best for us all if you knelt now and offered your neck for severing."       Orobas joined: "Much less painful, Poof." Pruflas sneered at the nickname -- the days long gone when it was used among brothers friendly.       Sytry slammed his halberd into the soil, kicking dirt around. "Your forces cannot hope to defeat us, duke. Save us the trouble and call out your generals. You waste time."       Pruflas looked at each of his brothers -- noting their tense demeanor that betrayed their words -- before speaking. "You think the power these Goetians offer is worth the price? You give up everything, fools! No one in history will rightly remember you for this!" He tensed himself, sensing the end of parlay.       Ipes countered: "Alive, we can always add to our tapestries, brother-fool. You will die here, pathetically of the mighty 1st prince -- who won't even be remembered!"       At some inflection signal of Ipes' voice, the battle started immediately. Gaap teleported behind Pruflas; who fired a thaumaturgic blast with his palm in response. Sytry took upward immediately, serving as the signal for the great hosts to begin a charge. Ipes and Orobas charged to harry the Duke, Gaap teleporting to exploit weak points. Stolas, while hesitant, still threw naturalis stones that exploded with volatile magicks.       The tempo was fierce on Pruflas, having to defend a 5-way assault from his brothers. Wide-area magic was used for stall tactics as he retreated back to a tree line outcropping. His hands never went far past his torso, always ready to fire at awkward angles to stop Gaap. Already, arrow cover from the ambush bands began to fire from behind boulders, in trees, inside foxholes. Sytry was forced to land, soon before great booming explosions shook the plains.       Advancing straight down the plain, the first of the armies triggered explosive stones, augmented with Greek fire. Brimstone and blood flew high, making the forces of Beelzebub lose momentum to avoid them. Demons burned and flayed. Chaos on the front established. Many of the princes had been shocked, allowing Pruflas a retreat using naturalis alchemy -- swapping positions with barrel lined with vials and flasks.       The distinctive 'POP' of naturalis teleportation divided the attentions of the princes' between the barrel and the explosions behind. They hadn't figured on the low tactics Pruflas would use; they always knew him for straightforward measures. Stolas, most versed in divination and magia naturalis, recognized in that split moment what would happen if the barrel slammed into the ground -- familiar with the contents swimming in the glass beakers.       He rushed to throw a deadening flask; while Sytry's wings undulated with effort to rocket him away; Gaap began to shimmer as his teleportation worked to spirit him outside the radius; Ipes dropped his swords to tackle Orobas tumbling away.       Pruflas gave them the bird, right as the barrel cracked like an egg against the ground. Immediately, air sucked in, fueling an oxidative powder slurry in an incandescent BOOM. As it took the flasks strapped to it, the explosion multi-faceted into an array of color, whooshing into an earth cracking death cloud. The ground in a decent radius, 3-5 paces, scorched and bubbled from the forces of alchemy and magia writ.       Stolas' gambit worked, his flask redirecting the blast around him, but he was thrown back, singed enough he lay groaning. Gaap and Sytry got away in time. It was Ipes, shielding Orobas, that got the worst of it. They 2 were flung a ways, Ipes unconscious from pain scalding. Orobas also suffered cracked ribs and concussion shock from being hit in the shockwave.       The Duke signaled for the next attack. Within areas around the Lust gate, makeshift mini-trebuchets began loosing their one-time payloads, roiling the grounds around the gate in magia explosions, utterly decimating the first of the assault.       Still, the legions poured from beyond the gate, the rings below spawning ever more in endless waves. Pruflas fled in the clamor and chaos, his brother-princes having to focus on themselves or be killed. The legions tried to advance in a mass, but the prepared traps and tactics by Limbo simply didn't permit such mindlessness. Cunning placements and subterfuge of stones -- confused for magia-traps -- among the constant skirmishings and trebuchet volleys, forced a division in the invading host. ~The heat of battle~ ~Sundering lands of Limbo~ ~Asphodel fields, Battered Woodlands~ ~Pruflas, Archmage~ The armies of the 5 arch-demons slithered from the gates of Lust like ants; save Beelzebub's fliers that swarmed like gnats. Limbo all over was in clamor, ground troops advancing on fortifications of human defenders, arrows flying like shadows at distance. Every now and then small explosions would rock the invading forces, caused by harrier skirmishers throwing Greek hand-bombs before fleeing. Some even strapped them to arrow shafts, firing from within concealment lines.       Regardless of the valor displayed by Limbo, the fully might of the armies of Hell ground into the land, pushing defensive lines steadily back. It was pockmarked and darkened from the topsoil thoroughly upended. Siege lines formed under arrow-rains, sky demons harassing archer-defenders. Some were lifted by the arms up, where harpies and imps would gut them alive, trailing intestines and organs down on the humans below.       Pruflas himself had retreated to within the former Pruning Woods, between his castle and the River Acheron at Hell's entrance. He favored this location for a quick spell: using splinters from the trees to launch into demon's eyes. Then, expending the life energy in the bark, he would make the splinter grow into branches, withering in the brain. A quick, cheap kill. And there were plenty of trees around.       An allied scout came up to the Duke as he hid behind a boulder-and-tree. Pruflas bade: "Report."       "The veils are quaking, lord. We expect them to tear within the hour or two."       Pruflas acknowledged, following up: "And what about reports of the Arch-demons? How do they fight?"       The scout shook his head in disbelief, had he not witnessed some of the events himself: "Beelzebub is a ranged terror. He brings plague-fliers where he goes. Mammon flaunts his way, slow, but designed purely for disrespect. Leviathan is a master of siege, his body impervious to arrow or fire. Lucifer bears straight for your castle, lord. And Satan," -- the scout shuddered -- "they say Satan has slaughtered 5 legions, singly."       Pruflas sighed. "Very good. Your final order is to survive. Make sure any you come across hears so."       The scout nodded, hesitating as he rose. "Lord? It wasn't so bad. I hope you make it out." With that, the scout fled into clamors beyond, Pruflas gathering his own breath. Metile should be at the entrance past Acheron, where I'll wait until the last minute to escape.       He wondered at the stations of his assassination bands, hidden among the weak points in the veil, ready to attack once it tears in the chaos. How many would even live to begin an attack?       Pruflas heard hunting bands in the woods, getting up and beginning a new assault of magic. He had killed at least a hundred now, and still they seemed endless. Rocks were flung like scattershot, sticks launched as spears, and no matter how many Pruflas left gored, ripped apart, or exploded in shower-mists; more came. It seemed flying imps constantly reported his position, goading bands peel off to finish the Duke. ~Cusp of Defeat~ ~Sundered Ring, Limbo~ ~Backed-to-the-shores~ ~Pruflas, last of resistance~ The invading demons suffused Limbo in their grip, all the fortifications under full assault as Limbo lost territorial control. Packs hounded the last of defenders, skewering them, eating them, raping them. Only the mightiest and well-garrisoned human castles remained, even they switching to last stand.       Pruflas had a phalanx of some of the very last of demons, by a boulder distribution on the shores of Acheron. Attackers constantly pushed the position, beaten back or killed under mage-corps fire. There were maybe a couple hundred demons left to Pruflas here, and for every 10-20 they killed, one was lost to a skewer, an arrow, or even a magic bolt.       They fought because they knew there was no alternative. The demons had no concept of mercy, only using the defeated for whatever carnal selfish whim was currently affecting the invaders. Pruflas could only hope the human villages left to their own fought with the tools he could spare. No more delusion of victory was with Limbo.       Still, the phalanx fought, the boulder-cover chipping under the fierce barrage, the water behind them sizzling with magic heat-fire. One-by-one, defenders fell in gurgling death, blood beginning to soak the soil. The encirclement grew ever tighter, demons gnashing at the blood lust. The phalanx would break soon.       Pruflas cast a lightning bolt, arcing between several demons to heaps, when the horn blew. It echoed so deeply sonorous that all of Limbo fell silent for a moment. He knew they were here. He dove for the ground not fast enough, shouting: "Down! If you want even a chance, DOWN!"       Right as many of the phalanx dove for prone, demons charging down the shore to the boulders; the gates of Hell past Acheron exploded in blinding, painful light. Pruflas couldn't look, covering his head. Heart pounding at the true test imminent.       Only the sounds of wings, so many wings could be heard over the sudden shift in clamor. Where there were once demonic laughing and screaming, blood curdling cries of help and mercy; now there were squeals of animals being slaughtered.       Pruflas could feel the intensity of the aura at the scions of Above passing by, scouring the very essence of Hell in their passage. Any demon that even slightly showed resistance now was slaughtered in immediate retaliation. They spoke a language that drove ringing in Pruflas' head. The noise! He didn't dare even look up from the muddy banks of Acheron, calling for his retinue to do the same.       It was only after the sounds quieted fully did Pruflas dare to rise. The sight was immediate. An abbatoir. Demon bodies were strewn all around the phalanx, severed clean in twain almost to the very last of them. As though they were simply willed to just be eviscerated. From the glimpses past the Pruning Woods, the fires of once-sieges could be seen, and the gore just the same in intensity. It looked as though a scythe just simply cut through Limbo in one swoop.       He looked around at his troop, asking for status. As they began to realize relief, they stopped as though frozen. Pruflas felt it: one of the scions was here! Right here! Amongst them even though it wasn't a mere breath ago. It had at least 10 wings, if not more, and the eyes. The eyes! They looked at Pruflas, paralyzing him under the fire of judgement. He couldn't move, couldn't think. Only fear.       It glided to him silently, effortlessly. He couldn't move. It reached with an ethereal hand to his chest, plucking out his heart like a dandelion to a baby. He gasped, blood wrenching out from his frozen mouth. His limbs went colder every second the angel examined his still beating heart. It tossed the meat back in his ribcage casually, making his blacked-out vision return slowly, stars flashing about.       In his paralyzed mind, a great voice of ear-splitting definition rung out: KNEEL!       He didn't even hesitate, reflexively supplicating. As though the same thing happened to his retinue, most kneel at the same moment. The ones that hesitated for longer than a quarter-second were bifurcated like wheat. Blood sprayed out over the kneeling. Pruflas could feel the force of that invisible blow just above his head. Had I been a second slower!       When he dared to look up again, they were alone. Only the fresh dead seeping offered noise.       He shook out a breath in both fear and relief, collapsing from the great stress. Many of the demons did some similar action. Charon rowed to the group after a long while, enough for the many to calm. "First time?" ~Ferried across Acheron~ Pruflas thanked Charon, before hurrying up the bank to the entrance gates of Hell -- now eerily silent. There were other bifurcated demons here, and he searched frantically for his partner. He was flipping bodies over, going to stacks and mounds, pulling them up; calling for Metile. He was heart pounded and huddled when he heard the call.       "My Duke?"       That tone, that soft accent. He whirled, "Metile?"       And there she was, already hugging him in an embrace, her sweet scent masking the death around. He held her tight, long, before gently pulling her to face him.       "It's time, my sweet. Let's go, just the two of us."       She nodded, placing her hand over his as it lay across her cheek. "Yes, my Duke."       They looked one last time at the destroyed lands of Limbo, the very color stained from the raw blood shed, and walked toward the weakened gate to the mortal lands. Letting Metile go first, Pruflas turned and fired a signal mortar of magia back over Limbo, the color of a passing comet over the dead land. After a moment, other like flares fired from castles sparse around the ring. Less than he hoped would make it, but he smiled nonetheless. Some did survive.       He walked through the veil. The Pseudomonarchia Daemonum had just fallen, the survivors no doubt falling to the Goetians.       But Pruflas no longer cared.