Dias
Fenrir
A little something I've reworked and decided to repost. It is based in Dungeons and Dragons myth but familiarity with it is not necessary. Action/Fantasy rated R for language, violence, sex, and all around depravity. There will be further notes from me at the end of the post.
Chapter One: Bagahlrash
“Press the attack! Leave nothing alive!” came the command of the devil general, Bagahlrash. The pit fiend roared his orders standing amidst an impasto of bodies, blood, and gore as he and his army cut into the opposing ranks. Towering fifteen feet tall with a strong, muscular form covered deep red armor like scales, the horrid creature certainly looked the part of commanding hordes of the ultimate evil in war. His grand leathery wings, sharpened black horns, flat face with pulled-back features, and miniscule yellow-red eyes merely corroborated the fact.
Around him, the battlefield was alight with destruction. The dry sienna ground was cracked, scarred, and feverishly damaged from the chaos that raged upon it. Jets of flame seethed from wounds on the crusty floor spewing ash, sulfur, and embers into the stagnant air. Rank, pestiferous clouds in monochromatic red and brown were congested in the sky, churning and groaning; noises that were inaudible over the cacophony of sounds that were sparked to life from battle -- steel clanging, fierce warriors screaming, growling, roaring, blood and organs spewing. It was pure Hell. Literally.
This was just one of the countless battles in the Blood War, the ultimate confrontation within the lower planes. It was a feud that began before chronology itself and would most likely rage on after time’s own expiration; a war longer than all of those in the histories of man, angel, or any other being combined. The war was between the two greatest forces of evil; demons, the tanar’ri and devils, the baatezu. There was an unspeakable hatred betwixt the two, though its origin had since been lost in blood, and other than the corruption of mortals, each lived only to kill the other.
This particular round of combat was taking place on the demonic plane, the Abyss. Where exactly it was in relation to anywhere else could not be readily determined, for the Abyss was an endless place with more layers than anyone could possibly count. It was a collection of realms that reflected the unfocused madness of the tanar’ri in its construction, so unlike the devil-world, Baator, which possessed nine layers in a logical, hierarchical order, strict and methodic in design as devils tended to be.
The baatezu Bagahlrash looked on as his forces of barbazu spearheaded into the demonic ranks. The bearded devils, as they were known as in the common tongue, were hideous gray-green bipeds with sickle-like claws, raging red eyes, and thick, prickly beards that could actually stab victims as if they were weapons. Coupled with their proficient use in long-poled glaives, the barbazu were the general’s favored commanders.
Though he would have very much liked to watch his minions ram burning steel through demonic flesh, Bagahlrash’s gaze lingered for only a moment as his attention was stolen by swift moving forms in the distant air. Their coloration stood out starkly against the pestilent red of the sick atmosphere, and the fact that they had large, feathered wings as opposed to the standard leathery ones of underworld denizens made them easy for Bagahlrash to mark.
The vrock air troops sped across the sky, loosing blood-boiling screeches from their beaks. The blue-, indigo-, and violet-hued demons looked like grotesque, horse-sized vultures with long, lanky limbs and white wings stained with yellow and red. The pit fiend growled deep in his throat, for he knew that vrocks were very productive in combat - mainly due to the fact that they reveled in blood frenzy as succubi to sex, and were perhaps the most sadistic of all demon-kind.
Bagahlrash stretched out his regal red wings like the sails of a great ship on either side of him and released an intimidating bellow that rumbled across the battlefield, throwing demons off of their cues and making even the stoutest enemies quaver. With a commanding flap of those morbidly majestic appendages, he took to the air.
The mighty general now gazed upon the battlefield from this improved vantage point. Tens of thousands of lemures, mindless drones of devilkind that looked like nothing more than melting mounds of flesh, were pouring like water through the breaking of a massive dam into the demonic forces, where they went toe to toe, so to speak, with dretches, the bulbous, pathetic demons who served the same purpose for the tanar’ri as lemures did for the devils - cannon fodder. Intermingled within the weak, swarming forces were the commanders and lieutenants of both sides. Barbazu and gelugons (ice devils) for the forces of the Nine Hells and hezrous on the side of the Abyss.
For now, however, Bagahlrash was concerned primarily with the vrocks. The vulture-demons had to have a reason for flying this high in the air, the pit fiend knew. The species loved blood and battle too much to be this far away from the action. They had some sort of plan, but what it was the general could not determine. He did not like surprises.
Currently, Bagahlrash was the only devil in the air. He kept his own flying troops in the reserves until they were needed. Demons, on the other hand, were chaotic in nature, and simply threw what forces they had out of the woodwork until the battle was over, though no battle ever truly ended, as the demons had basically endless numbers. Devils, on the other hand, were more cunning and insidious, though their numbers were fewer. This was not a law set in stone, however. There were breeds of devil that were more numerous than some breeds of demon, and there were select species of demon who could stand up against the more powerful devils.
Bagahlrash was finally certain when the vrocks flew higher that they were about to do something vicious, so the beast held out his hand and made a quick downwards swipe. In an instant, to his left, there was a ripple of light, and a feminine figure was hovering beside him. She had a chalky yet pearly light blue skin tone and held an appearance that was most attractive by both standards of devil and mortal. She maintained a voluptuous form, noticeable beneath her constricting suit of chain mail, with a face that suggested an innocence lost long ago. Great, red-feathered wings stretched out behind her, and her eyes, from beneath fallen strands of her raven hair, lusted for battle.
“Yes, my general?” she asked in a soft, haunting voice. She looked up at his face, for she knew not to ascend to his level though he was double her height. Such insubordination would not go unpunished.
“Siretha, rally the erinyes. Vrocks come, and they fly too high,” Bagahlrash grunted in his dominating tone. His eyes were transfixed on the movements of the rank birds, who were now slowing, preparing to unleash whatever trick they had brought with them.
“Mmm…yes, lord,” Siretha responded, licking her lips. “Right away.” She then vanished in another ripple of reddish light. At this time, Bagahlrash gave another grand flap, sending him higher into the air. He watched the vrocks as they stopped flying and hovered several hundred feet over the battlefield. It was only now that the general realized that they were carrying sacks that were tied around their waists. They each drew from their bags a small item which the devil could not discern. They held their hands close to their spindly bodies, stretching their fingers out as far as they could go, until glowing masses of crackling lightning sparked to life in their possession.
“Damn!” Bagahlrash boomed, realizing at once what was about to take place. Everything in the lower planes was naturally outfitted with immunities. Devils could not be harmed in any sense by heat or flame, and demons were the same way with lightning and electricity. By dropping these manifestations into the hordes below, hundreds of lemures would quickly meet their ends as dretches lived on to fight.
Bagahlrash was not going to let this happen. He flapped his wings erratically, charging forward. Green flame started to rise and smoke from the clutch of his right hand as the vrocks dropped their first volley of spells. The sparkling balls sped through the air and crashed into the ground, exploding with a resounding cackle as blue-yellow flashes of light washed across the armies. The crack and sizzle of weaving lightning droned as the dust roared with the squeals of dying lemures.
“Die, demons!” Bagahlrash bellowed, throwing out the mass of hazy green he had built in his palm. The glob shattered in mid-flight, and dozens of diminutive, green skinned, winged devils - imps - flapped through the air like some sort of frenzied murder of crows. They swarmed over the much more powerful vrocks, clawing, stinging, and biting. The vultures began to counterattack, ripping the small devils apart with their claws, snapping them in half with their ever-powerful beaks.
The twenty or so vrocks had cut down most of the imps by the time Bagahlrash arrived. The devil spread out his wings and roared yet again, sending waves of fright ebbing through the demons. He stared them down for a brief moment, and he could see the tint of fear lurking in their sadistic eyes.
He dove forward, sending a clawed fist into, and through, the first vrock It shrieked out in dying expenditure and the devil ripped his arm from the side of the creature. Blood fell like a monsoon from a single, cadaverous cloud and the lifeless body fell. The demons all began chattering madly, now trying to outmaneuver the general, flapping around and screeching. Bagahlrash threw his arm out to the side, a orb of raging flames leaping from his palm and crashing into the demon it was aimed for, consuming him entirely and leaving nothing left but a descending haze of ash and crisped flesh.
The vrocks attacked next, swooping in to try and overwhelm the devil with numbers. He snatched the first one, opened his mouth lined with venomous fangs, and stuffed the head of the bird demon into it. He crunched down swiftly, relishing the sensation of fragments of bone and juices from within the skull ricocheting off of the walls of his mouth. He pulled the limp corpse away, ripping vertebrae apart, then dropped it and let out a booming roar as another vrock tried to gnash at his arm with its claws.
Bagahlrash let out a booming, superior laugh and crushed the back of his hand into the spindly creature’s face. A gruesome crunch followed as the powerful beak of the demon shattered under the sheer force of the blow. It emitted a shriek of pain and instantly hovered backwards, clutching the front of his skull where there was now a steady, quick flow of blood surging forth from the massive wound.
The savage birds flocked over the general three or four at a time while the others hovered a few feet away, unable to find room to attack. Their bloodlust was building, and Bagahlrash knew that the longer a vrock was in a battle, the more dangerous it became. He could note the change in their eyes; the fear that was there just moments before being replaced by reckless abandon. He felt them clawing at him, and as their rage intensified, some of their unfocused blows were strong enough to break through the resilient scales of the pit fiend.
A sudden sting on the devil’s arm notified him that a claw had split his flesh, and with a burst of anger, Bagahlrash threw his arms and wings outward as far as he could, giving him an opening in the swarming actions of his enemies to attack. He grabbed a vrock in each hand, their thin, lanky bodies allowing him to do so easily, and slammed them together with all the force he was worth. The two demons connected with such power that their torsos, more or less, became one. Their bones snapped and folded, tearing through their own and each other’s flesh. Blood and viscous substances oozed into one another, forming a thick, repugnant paste that joined the two in death.
The rest of the vrocks immediately began to flock about in a cloud of murderous screeching and flailing limbs. Serpentine flames began to crawl and coil around in the pit fiend general’s filthy hands as he prepared to produce more seething spheres of flame. The demons reacted and quickly began to pull out small objects from their sacks again and they started to glow with filings of lightning.
Then they began to howl out in sickening pain as long arrows of flame tore through their forms, eating their bodies with searing, blinding affliction. They dropped their partially charged trinkets as embers danced through their interiors, burning and cauterizing veins, scorching bone, and boiling blood.
Bagahlrash, who by now was splattered with blood, pieces of internal organs, and feathers, cast his glance behind him where several dozen pale-skinned, red-winged, dark-haired erinyes were closing in, holding in front of them bows from which they discharged arrows comprised of fire. The front-most troops held their fingers to their bowstrings and pulled back, long tongues of flame appearing magically, and released them at the remaining vrocks. The projectiles sunk deep into their figures, breathing the swift apathy of death into them.
“What are your commands, my lord?” Siretha inquired in her soft, lustful voice as she came to hover next to her general again. Her squadron of aerial shock troops were itching to do more than bury their flaming bolts into a few vrocks.
Bagahlrash grunted and looked down, his miniscule eyes pouring over the chaos beneath. Dust was still floating, unsettled, from the volley of electrified magic the demons had unleashed. He hissed, sucking in air past his teeth, and shook his head in submission. “Go, Siretha,” he said. “Take your warriors down into the battle, and do not make me regret it.” Licking her lips again, the pearly-skinned devil flapped her crimson wings and replaced her bow with a sword that sparked to life in her clutch as a manifestation of flames. Her contingent mimicked her, and the lot of them sped off to the fighting below.
Bagahlrash growled low in his throat as they departed, a mark of his processing analysis. He was not at all worried that the erinyes would be in danger fighting the legion of dretches even with the more capable demons accompanying them. No, he was concerned with the fact that, knowing demonic strategies of attacking full force, more enemy flyers would soon arrive. With the erinyes on the ground, the foes would have ample time to do considerable damage before his own air troops would be able to regroup and retaliate.
“Demons…bastards,” Bagahlrash cursed, malice dripping from every syllable. He gave a flex of his wings, and angled himself into a dive. Tearing through the air, fumes of red from the sheer force of his presence trailing off of him, the devil both disdained and relished the entirety of the battle.
Battles in the Blood War never truly began or ended. They were all extensions of each other, ever fluctuating in intensity. There was never a second of ceasefire or peace within either the Abyss or Baator. Even if the Blood War ever somehow did come to a determined end, the relentless turmoil would persist. Even now, as Bagahlrash butchered the tanar’ri on the desolate plain, demons fought amongst themselves, and devils plotted against one another. It was the nature of all the creatures of the lower realms, of the planes themselves. It was also something that Bagahlrash loathed, for the Arch Devils of Hell cared more for their internal affairs than the Blood War.
Arch Devils were among the most powerful beings in existence. They each prevailed over a specific layer of Hell, one for each level. These powerful fiends, however, were more concerned about their own hierarchy above all else. They incessantly plotted against one another in long, arduous, and seemingly uneventful attempts to dismantle the power of the devil below. The only one who had any involvement in the Blood War was the newest Arch Devil, Bel, who ruled over the uppermost and first layer of Hell, Avernus.
Bel had just recently been made into an Arch Devil. He was at one time a pit fiend, just as Bagahlrash was, and the two were on good terms - as good as terms between devils could be, anyway. They had mutual feelings about the lack of interest in the war of the Rulers Nine. Having been previous allies in battle, they remained such even when Bel was elevated to his prestigious rank, even though Bagahlrash openly coveted the fact that it was not him who ascended. For if it had been him, the countless denizens of Avernus would have been thrown weapons first into the tanar’ric ranks.
The pit fiend sharply moved his wings to slow his descent to a stop as he came close enough to the ground for his feet to touch it. Upon coming in contact with the desiccated crust, the general broke into a sort of absent-minded run. He ploughed through the closest demonic lines like a massive ship through feeble waves, decimating the filing masses of enemies, his mere kicks sending dozens of dretches sailing through the air.
Usually, Bagahlrash would not let other matters tug at his consciousness in the heat of battle, for he was much too brilliant for that. This particular time, however, was an exception. The current tanar’ric horde had no supervising general, which made everything all the less dangerous. With no top ranking warrior, the demons were even more unorganized than usual, with hyaline morale that collapsed as easily as the head of the vrock the general had eaten.
In the most recent battle before this one, Bagahlrash had inflicted a grievous wound on one of the strongest demons that he had ever seen, who also happened to be the leader of the current opposing army. The victim of his strike was a top tanar’ri general whose position in the demonic ranks was about equal to Bagahlrash’s own for the baatezu. The venue for their fight had been just a few hundred feet away from the one the pit fiend stood upon now, and happened only hours before. In fact, many, if not most, of the forces fighting in the current battle were leftovers from the preceding
During that skirmish, while the troops had been slaughtering each other, Bagahlrash and the demonic general Garshalix were entwined in their own battle high above the combatants on the ground. Bagahlrash had thrown his mighty spear, Sky Reaper, into the side of the powerful demon’s front, viciously impaling him. The dishonorable, cowardly (by devil standards) leader retreated, taking the spear with him. Bagahlrash figured that his wound must have been severe enough to keep him away from this day’s battle, but the pit fiend knew he would see him again, for the two were arch-nemeses. Their blood-born rivalry was famous among the ranks of both demons and devils. Some even said that the two were destined to never kill one another, and would be locked in ferocious combat for all eternity. Of course, those were just the foolish ramblings of simple minded troops. If any soldier was caught openly stating that his general could not utterly destroy the other, he would certainly never say anything again.
Bagahlrash continued his present onslaught. Being the mightiest warrior on the field of battle, most tried to divert their advance away from his massive bulk, instead willing to test their odds against entire groups of devils. The practice brought a sinister smirk to Bagahlrash’s face, inflating his ego even larger than it already was. Ribbons of lemures swarmed forward on either side of the great pit fiend, with the bearded devil commanders mixed within them. Siretha and her erinyes forces were hovering above the heads of the dretches so that they could focus all of the attention of their fiery swords on the gorilla-like hezrous that were swatting lemures and crushing them like insects.
An eerie coincidence then came about. As if the bulk of the tanar’ric forces had been reading the thoughts that were perpetually analyzed by Bagahlrash’s brain, a chilling war cry of another band of bloodthirsty vrocks ravaged the acrid atmosphere. Even over the din of the ferocious battle could these earsplitting calls be heard, causing idling troops to fix their gaze on the feathered butchers.
Bagahlrash snarled and finished cutting down what dretches were in arms length of him, and fanned out his wings once again (which resulted in the removal of a few more), and gave them a great downward thrust, the force of which toppled even more enemies that were in his wake.
“Siretha!” the general boomed, his voice carrying into the waves of war even more effectively than the shrill trumpets of the vrocks. As the pit fiend ascended, he soon heard the graceful flapping of comely red wings behind him and the faint sizzle of fire. The group of them sped through the air at the birds whose behaviors were a bit different from their predecessors. They too were carrying small satchels which could only hold the enchanted tools the previous ones had used, but this band was not making to increase their altitude. Instead, they had their eyes fixed on Bagahlrash and his troops. The general regarded them carefully, not knowing what they had in store. And from his distance, he could not see the magical instruments already grasped in a talon of each one.
Before Bagahlrash or any of his company could react, masses of crackling electricity were racing through the air at them. They moved unnaturally, as the vrocks did not even need to throw them. By simply bringing the magic to life and letting go of the weapons with a gentle nudge in the right direction, they sped off at drastic speeds.
“Disperse!” roared the pit fiend, arching his wings at an uncomfortable angle that caused him to make an abrupt stop and shoot automatically a few feet upwards. After the initial ascent, he flapped again to make himself clear of the deadly volley. The general’s size, however, had obstructed the view of several of the erinyes behind him, and they had to make uncharacteristically cumbersome movements to get away. Several of them flapped their wings so hard, in such awkward angles, that gorgeous scarlet feathers were ripped from their resting places and fluttered aimlessly into the carnage below.
Some did not manage to make complete evasions. At least three of the troops were claimed by the lightning. The glowing manifestations of demonic magic erupted on contact into a pulsing, electrical webbing whose thousands of miniscule bolts bit into the devils’ flesh again and again until there was nothing left to bite. The pungent stench of singed skin and hair pervaded the air, and small storms of ash fell from the still-looming clouds of smoke. Bagahlrash roared in disapproval and rage and returned his gaze to the vrocks. The mongrels were no longer there, however, and were now in mid dive towards the battalions on the ground.
“Damned demon bastards!” the general cursed, his roars seeming to shake the very plane itself. “Charge them! Force your flames upon them and make them nothing but dust!” he said in a most authoritative tone. The erinyes would have been fools to disobey. They sped at sharp angles towards the vrocks, blades of flame grasped firmly in their hands.
As they flew, Bagahlrash began to fume in a most literal sense. Wisps of translucent flame began to pour from his body curling and licking the air. He was now hovering in a position where his arms were held horizontally, bent at the elbow and again at the wrist so his palms were facing upwards. The red clouds above and around him began to swirl quickly and violently, being pushed away from the general by some unknown force. The flames that were rising off of his upper body were growing taller and a crack of red and white lightning resounded above him in the clouds.
The spell that the devil was preparing was one of his most potent, and he know that it required a sizable casting time to make sure everything would go correctly. Softly, he whispered an incantation in the infernal tongue. More flames, this time tangible ones, roared to life in his palms. They stretched upwards, spearing the sky with their forked tips. The fires spread across his arms, onto his shoulders, and the back of his neck, until a small wall of flame from hand to hand was rising up from his body. His eyes had faded to gray and the miniscule pupils within them were no longer visible as they rolled into the back of his head.
And then, as if time stopped for a single moment, Bagahlrash’s eyes returned and all sound seemed to be absent. When that mere second ended, the general threw his arms in front of him, and tightened his fingers so they bent inward even more. The Hellish fires that had ignited in his hands poured out from his palms and moved like comets down into the battlefield. The conflagration continued to surge from his hands in two perpetual jets.
The roaring heat came in contact with the ground, and then the devil began to slowly move his arms and the two immense pillars of flame with them. The berserk spell engulfed anything not naturally immune to fire - all of the demons - in its path, disintegrating them instantly. He kept the two blasts ever moving, slicing deep, wide lines into the opposing forces. Very soon, however, he could feel the flames that danced on the back of his neck begin to fade so that only the spaces from hand to shoulder were alight. Then, the fires inched their way down his arms until they got to the elbow, and again until they came to his wrists. Finally, when they vanished in all areas except his hands, he knew that the spell was about to expire and made a final motion by crossing his arms, therefore converging the two jets of fire.
They formed a large and infinitely loud explosion several hundred feet below. When the last of the flames jumped from Bagahlrash’s palms, his shoulders slumped and exhaustion came over him. His dark arcane arts had been drained quickly with the sustaining of his powerful spell, and he knew he would need a good few hours rest to recover fully.
A blinding pain in the general’s thigh and abdomen derailed his train of thought. He looked down at himself, and saw two large arrow shafts sticking out of his hardened scales. Dark, viscous blood was oozing from the entry points, trickling slowly down his front, changing direction every second with the pitch of his scales. The pit fiend then looked ahead and saw yet another band of vrocks, each carrying an arrow demon in their talons.
Arrow demons were large, taller than vrocks (though the vultures usually were hunched over), and looked more like giants than demons. They had primitive faces with large, jutting jaws and low-hanging brows. They were usually bald and had skin of dark, disgusting green. Finally, they came with a set of four arms, which they used to operate their trademark dual-bow wielding strategies.
Bagahlrash snarled and ripped the two shafts of wood from his flesh, but found that the tips broke off before making it through his tough scales, and were effectively lodged within his muscle. This only angered the behemoth more, and he started off towards the fiends in a focused rage.
As he flew, he took note of the destruction he had caused below. Long, charred depressions in the scorched ground stood out like great scars, spattered with the remnants of the hundreds of demons engulfed in the wake of the flames. Blood, ash, and blackened fragments of bone caked the edges of the trenches, and the rank stench of burnt gore perverted the nostrils of all surrounding beings. The devils, of course, had been left unscathed by the spell. Natural immunities to fire made the jets of seething, roaring flames seem like powerful blasts of wind to them.
As Bagahlrash neared the duos of vrocks and arrow demons, most of whom were now firing their long, thick arrows into the lingering erinyes below or the barbazu commanders, he also saw the erinyes ramming their conflagrant swords through the other bird demons they had kept to the ground. The vrocks were not totally helpless, however, and the pit fiend could make out several sword-wielding devils who were laying in grotesque heaps on the bloody, barren land. Their lethal wounds were characteristic of a vrock’s assault - deep, jagged claw marks around their clavicles, chunks of throats removed, eyes punctured, and all around very messy.
The front most arrow demons focused their attention on the general as he drew nearer. Each bestial fiend drew a large arrow from each of their two quivers, and set them into their massive twin bows. They pulled back, and waited for the most advantageous shots possible. Bagahlrash began to swerve and move in an erratic pattern to make himself less of a target. He only wished that he had his great spear grasped firmly in his hands.
A myriad of twanging sounds was the first alert that the volley of arrows was discharged. Bagahlrash spun in mid-flight and veered off to one side. The momentum of his maneuver sent his scale-covered tail careening into the shaft of one arrow, which snapped the wood and swept the projectile away. However, the movement had placed him in the path of a second oncoming missile, which buried itself in the devil’s back, right beneath his left shoulder blade. Though arrow demons were only eight feet tall, their ammunition was large enough to summon a grunt of pain from their target. The general bent his arm to retrieve the arrow, but the strength of his hand snapped it and the metal head clasped onto his muscle.
Another orchestration of arrows forced Bagahlrash to abandon efforts to remove the thing in his back. The devil folded his wings and went into a steep dive, putting himself below the hail of discharged weaponry. The pit fiend swept into ascent, continuing the parabolic arc his flight had formed when he noticed a sudden updraft of crimson wings, pastel skin, and flaming swords.
The erinyes rose into the midst of the demons and began a merciless butchering of them. Siretha had come up with a powerful upwards slash which cleaned straight through an arrow demon and his vrock transport. The two halves of each enemy fell, trailing strings of blood and the fumes of scorched flesh.
Many of the vrocks, their bloodlust now accroaching what judgment and reasoning they had, began dropping their four-armed cargo to engage the new threats. Arrow demons groaned as they fell through the congested air, splattering into the raging forces beneath. The vultures then turned their assault on the erinyes, clawing, biting, and ripping with the primal instinct that they were known for. One beast lunged forward with all four talon-equipped limbs stretching outwards, and grasped the arms and legs of an unfortunate devil in each. A quick, powerful pull in four different directions reduced the baatezu to a mere torso - one which erupted with a fading caterwaul as it fell helplessly to the ground below with vital fluid spraying from the severed sockets.
Bagahlrash finished his arc, appearing in front of the victorious vrock, and threw a closed fist into its face. The beak of the beast shattered and ground into its skull, the following anguished scream distorted by the newly morphed countenance. Blood extravasated from the collapse, matting the feathers around it with its stickiness. Bagahlrash released another punch which crumpled the cranium completely.
Another squawking demon leapt onto Bagahlrash’s back, attempting feverishly to tear through the armor-like scales of the devil and get into the flesh and muscle of the neck. The frantic slashing and biting only managed to inflict a few scrapes before a massive clawed hand closed around the vrock’s head. One firm squeeze was all that was needed to effectively crush the demon’s pate. The slick, gelatinous composure of the internal fluids and leaking, quelled brain made the corpse a bit difficult to hold on to as the mighty general swung the cadaver into another of the tanar’ri sending the live one sailing through the air and the murdered one careening downwards as feed for the feral forces.
Moments later, the rest of the vrocks had been exterminated and below, the remaining tanar’ric warriors were routing and fleeing out of fear and dilapidated morale. Bagahlrash descended so he was a mere fifty feet above the armies, and glided onwards, bellowing new orders.
“Kill them all! Do not let a single feeble dretch escape! Press the attack! On, on, ON!” he rallied. A chorus of roars and victorious growls sounded from the devils as they charged onward, eager to eradicate the demonic scourge. As they pressed forward, Bagahlrash slowed and cast his eyes over the wake of utter repulsion left behind.
The ground was smothered in corpses like some sort of morbid flooring, bodies of both demons and devils, all with ravenous wounds that told varied tales of painful deaths. Some were half burned, remaining flesh crinkled and black and still steaming. Others were impaled on spears and glaives, others still simply mutilated by fang, beak, and claw. Limbs and head lay ripped and askew, far from the bodies to which they were originally attached. Fetid filth was splattered across the entire scene - blood of varying colors, entrails and internal organs left to rot, putrid mounds of color so disorderly that they could not be identified. Any mortal, no matter how much fortitude he had, would retch endlessly upon seeing the tumultuous graveyard that spanned the grounds.
Bagahlrash let his wings drape behind him as he came to a landing, his foot coming down on the corpse of a dretch crushing the body into pulp with a gruesome pop. He, too, possessed some wounds, but nothing major. He was home to a few mere scrapes and cuts and even fewer arrowheads, but nothing that would affect his well being.
Siretha landed next to Bagahlrash, for she had sent her remaining erinyes to aid in the final extirpation. Her rich, black hair was now matted and tangled with blood, sweat, and other fluids. Much of it seemed to be glued to her seductive features, which was now splattered in vital fluid. Her blade had since been released into nothing, and she held a few gashes on her arms. With a blissful sigh she gathered blood from her face on her finger and licked it clean.
“Another battle won,” Siretha said, obviously dismayed that it was over. She most certainly took great pleasure in the butchering of enemies and pain and she began to lick her own wounds.
“Yes,” grunted Bagahlrash, not moving his eyes towards the commander. “But today was quasit play. They lacked an overseer, which made them even weaker than usual. They had no commands for reinforcements. They will return, and I expect a much larger attack. Garshalix will not remain away for long. I shall return to the barracks now, you stay here and oversee the return of the troops.” With that, he vanished in a scarlet shimmer of light.
Siretha shrugged and sighed again, tasting the blood still spattered on her face. The smell of death invaded her nostrils fully, bringing with it the stench of perverse pleasure. She trudged lightly a few feet into the corrosive gore and sent a hand southwards for self stimulation.
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Well there it is. The first chapter is really just setting the scene and providing a bit of history, granted that history is condensed as I did not want it monopolizing the chapter. If you have any questions feel free to ask (preferably via PM unless you ask as part of a review). There won't be a set schedule for updating; when I finish a chapter I'll post it. Chapter two is done a first draft but I need to go back over it and tighten it up.
As always criticism is accepted. Something I'd like to get a general feel for though, in my original drafts I had the names of the demons and devils (erinyes, barbazu, etc.) in italics, though they are normal this go around. I'm not sure if either way adds or subracts from the overall flow or not.
Well, that's about it, then.
H E L L
Chapter One: Bagahlrash
“Press the attack! Leave nothing alive!” came the command of the devil general, Bagahlrash. The pit fiend roared his orders standing amidst an impasto of bodies, blood, and gore as he and his army cut into the opposing ranks. Towering fifteen feet tall with a strong, muscular form covered deep red armor like scales, the horrid creature certainly looked the part of commanding hordes of the ultimate evil in war. His grand leathery wings, sharpened black horns, flat face with pulled-back features, and miniscule yellow-red eyes merely corroborated the fact.
Around him, the battlefield was alight with destruction. The dry sienna ground was cracked, scarred, and feverishly damaged from the chaos that raged upon it. Jets of flame seethed from wounds on the crusty floor spewing ash, sulfur, and embers into the stagnant air. Rank, pestiferous clouds in monochromatic red and brown were congested in the sky, churning and groaning; noises that were inaudible over the cacophony of sounds that were sparked to life from battle -- steel clanging, fierce warriors screaming, growling, roaring, blood and organs spewing. It was pure Hell. Literally.
This was just one of the countless battles in the Blood War, the ultimate confrontation within the lower planes. It was a feud that began before chronology itself and would most likely rage on after time’s own expiration; a war longer than all of those in the histories of man, angel, or any other being combined. The war was between the two greatest forces of evil; demons, the tanar’ri and devils, the baatezu. There was an unspeakable hatred betwixt the two, though its origin had since been lost in blood, and other than the corruption of mortals, each lived only to kill the other.
This particular round of combat was taking place on the demonic plane, the Abyss. Where exactly it was in relation to anywhere else could not be readily determined, for the Abyss was an endless place with more layers than anyone could possibly count. It was a collection of realms that reflected the unfocused madness of the tanar’ri in its construction, so unlike the devil-world, Baator, which possessed nine layers in a logical, hierarchical order, strict and methodic in design as devils tended to be.
The baatezu Bagahlrash looked on as his forces of barbazu spearheaded into the demonic ranks. The bearded devils, as they were known as in the common tongue, were hideous gray-green bipeds with sickle-like claws, raging red eyes, and thick, prickly beards that could actually stab victims as if they were weapons. Coupled with their proficient use in long-poled glaives, the barbazu were the general’s favored commanders.
Though he would have very much liked to watch his minions ram burning steel through demonic flesh, Bagahlrash’s gaze lingered for only a moment as his attention was stolen by swift moving forms in the distant air. Their coloration stood out starkly against the pestilent red of the sick atmosphere, and the fact that they had large, feathered wings as opposed to the standard leathery ones of underworld denizens made them easy for Bagahlrash to mark.
The vrock air troops sped across the sky, loosing blood-boiling screeches from their beaks. The blue-, indigo-, and violet-hued demons looked like grotesque, horse-sized vultures with long, lanky limbs and white wings stained with yellow and red. The pit fiend growled deep in his throat, for he knew that vrocks were very productive in combat - mainly due to the fact that they reveled in blood frenzy as succubi to sex, and were perhaps the most sadistic of all demon-kind.
Bagahlrash stretched out his regal red wings like the sails of a great ship on either side of him and released an intimidating bellow that rumbled across the battlefield, throwing demons off of their cues and making even the stoutest enemies quaver. With a commanding flap of those morbidly majestic appendages, he took to the air.
The mighty general now gazed upon the battlefield from this improved vantage point. Tens of thousands of lemures, mindless drones of devilkind that looked like nothing more than melting mounds of flesh, were pouring like water through the breaking of a massive dam into the demonic forces, where they went toe to toe, so to speak, with dretches, the bulbous, pathetic demons who served the same purpose for the tanar’ri as lemures did for the devils - cannon fodder. Intermingled within the weak, swarming forces were the commanders and lieutenants of both sides. Barbazu and gelugons (ice devils) for the forces of the Nine Hells and hezrous on the side of the Abyss.
For now, however, Bagahlrash was concerned primarily with the vrocks. The vulture-demons had to have a reason for flying this high in the air, the pit fiend knew. The species loved blood and battle too much to be this far away from the action. They had some sort of plan, but what it was the general could not determine. He did not like surprises.
Currently, Bagahlrash was the only devil in the air. He kept his own flying troops in the reserves until they were needed. Demons, on the other hand, were chaotic in nature, and simply threw what forces they had out of the woodwork until the battle was over, though no battle ever truly ended, as the demons had basically endless numbers. Devils, on the other hand, were more cunning and insidious, though their numbers were fewer. This was not a law set in stone, however. There were breeds of devil that were more numerous than some breeds of demon, and there were select species of demon who could stand up against the more powerful devils.
Bagahlrash was finally certain when the vrocks flew higher that they were about to do something vicious, so the beast held out his hand and made a quick downwards swipe. In an instant, to his left, there was a ripple of light, and a feminine figure was hovering beside him. She had a chalky yet pearly light blue skin tone and held an appearance that was most attractive by both standards of devil and mortal. She maintained a voluptuous form, noticeable beneath her constricting suit of chain mail, with a face that suggested an innocence lost long ago. Great, red-feathered wings stretched out behind her, and her eyes, from beneath fallen strands of her raven hair, lusted for battle.
“Yes, my general?” she asked in a soft, haunting voice. She looked up at his face, for she knew not to ascend to his level though he was double her height. Such insubordination would not go unpunished.
“Siretha, rally the erinyes. Vrocks come, and they fly too high,” Bagahlrash grunted in his dominating tone. His eyes were transfixed on the movements of the rank birds, who were now slowing, preparing to unleash whatever trick they had brought with them.
“Mmm…yes, lord,” Siretha responded, licking her lips. “Right away.” She then vanished in another ripple of reddish light. At this time, Bagahlrash gave another grand flap, sending him higher into the air. He watched the vrocks as they stopped flying and hovered several hundred feet over the battlefield. It was only now that the general realized that they were carrying sacks that were tied around their waists. They each drew from their bags a small item which the devil could not discern. They held their hands close to their spindly bodies, stretching their fingers out as far as they could go, until glowing masses of crackling lightning sparked to life in their possession.
“Damn!” Bagahlrash boomed, realizing at once what was about to take place. Everything in the lower planes was naturally outfitted with immunities. Devils could not be harmed in any sense by heat or flame, and demons were the same way with lightning and electricity. By dropping these manifestations into the hordes below, hundreds of lemures would quickly meet their ends as dretches lived on to fight.
Bagahlrash was not going to let this happen. He flapped his wings erratically, charging forward. Green flame started to rise and smoke from the clutch of his right hand as the vrocks dropped their first volley of spells. The sparkling balls sped through the air and crashed into the ground, exploding with a resounding cackle as blue-yellow flashes of light washed across the armies. The crack and sizzle of weaving lightning droned as the dust roared with the squeals of dying lemures.
“Die, demons!” Bagahlrash bellowed, throwing out the mass of hazy green he had built in his palm. The glob shattered in mid-flight, and dozens of diminutive, green skinned, winged devils - imps - flapped through the air like some sort of frenzied murder of crows. They swarmed over the much more powerful vrocks, clawing, stinging, and biting. The vultures began to counterattack, ripping the small devils apart with their claws, snapping them in half with their ever-powerful beaks.
The twenty or so vrocks had cut down most of the imps by the time Bagahlrash arrived. The devil spread out his wings and roared yet again, sending waves of fright ebbing through the demons. He stared them down for a brief moment, and he could see the tint of fear lurking in their sadistic eyes.
He dove forward, sending a clawed fist into, and through, the first vrock It shrieked out in dying expenditure and the devil ripped his arm from the side of the creature. Blood fell like a monsoon from a single, cadaverous cloud and the lifeless body fell. The demons all began chattering madly, now trying to outmaneuver the general, flapping around and screeching. Bagahlrash threw his arm out to the side, a orb of raging flames leaping from his palm and crashing into the demon it was aimed for, consuming him entirely and leaving nothing left but a descending haze of ash and crisped flesh.
The vrocks attacked next, swooping in to try and overwhelm the devil with numbers. He snatched the first one, opened his mouth lined with venomous fangs, and stuffed the head of the bird demon into it. He crunched down swiftly, relishing the sensation of fragments of bone and juices from within the skull ricocheting off of the walls of his mouth. He pulled the limp corpse away, ripping vertebrae apart, then dropped it and let out a booming roar as another vrock tried to gnash at his arm with its claws.
Bagahlrash let out a booming, superior laugh and crushed the back of his hand into the spindly creature’s face. A gruesome crunch followed as the powerful beak of the demon shattered under the sheer force of the blow. It emitted a shriek of pain and instantly hovered backwards, clutching the front of his skull where there was now a steady, quick flow of blood surging forth from the massive wound.
The savage birds flocked over the general three or four at a time while the others hovered a few feet away, unable to find room to attack. Their bloodlust was building, and Bagahlrash knew that the longer a vrock was in a battle, the more dangerous it became. He could note the change in their eyes; the fear that was there just moments before being replaced by reckless abandon. He felt them clawing at him, and as their rage intensified, some of their unfocused blows were strong enough to break through the resilient scales of the pit fiend.
A sudden sting on the devil’s arm notified him that a claw had split his flesh, and with a burst of anger, Bagahlrash threw his arms and wings outward as far as he could, giving him an opening in the swarming actions of his enemies to attack. He grabbed a vrock in each hand, their thin, lanky bodies allowing him to do so easily, and slammed them together with all the force he was worth. The two demons connected with such power that their torsos, more or less, became one. Their bones snapped and folded, tearing through their own and each other’s flesh. Blood and viscous substances oozed into one another, forming a thick, repugnant paste that joined the two in death.
The rest of the vrocks immediately began to flock about in a cloud of murderous screeching and flailing limbs. Serpentine flames began to crawl and coil around in the pit fiend general’s filthy hands as he prepared to produce more seething spheres of flame. The demons reacted and quickly began to pull out small objects from their sacks again and they started to glow with filings of lightning.
Then they began to howl out in sickening pain as long arrows of flame tore through their forms, eating their bodies with searing, blinding affliction. They dropped their partially charged trinkets as embers danced through their interiors, burning and cauterizing veins, scorching bone, and boiling blood.
Bagahlrash, who by now was splattered with blood, pieces of internal organs, and feathers, cast his glance behind him where several dozen pale-skinned, red-winged, dark-haired erinyes were closing in, holding in front of them bows from which they discharged arrows comprised of fire. The front-most troops held their fingers to their bowstrings and pulled back, long tongues of flame appearing magically, and released them at the remaining vrocks. The projectiles sunk deep into their figures, breathing the swift apathy of death into them.
“What are your commands, my lord?” Siretha inquired in her soft, lustful voice as she came to hover next to her general again. Her squadron of aerial shock troops were itching to do more than bury their flaming bolts into a few vrocks.
Bagahlrash grunted and looked down, his miniscule eyes pouring over the chaos beneath. Dust was still floating, unsettled, from the volley of electrified magic the demons had unleashed. He hissed, sucking in air past his teeth, and shook his head in submission. “Go, Siretha,” he said. “Take your warriors down into the battle, and do not make me regret it.” Licking her lips again, the pearly-skinned devil flapped her crimson wings and replaced her bow with a sword that sparked to life in her clutch as a manifestation of flames. Her contingent mimicked her, and the lot of them sped off to the fighting below.
Bagahlrash growled low in his throat as they departed, a mark of his processing analysis. He was not at all worried that the erinyes would be in danger fighting the legion of dretches even with the more capable demons accompanying them. No, he was concerned with the fact that, knowing demonic strategies of attacking full force, more enemy flyers would soon arrive. With the erinyes on the ground, the foes would have ample time to do considerable damage before his own air troops would be able to regroup and retaliate.
“Demons…bastards,” Bagahlrash cursed, malice dripping from every syllable. He gave a flex of his wings, and angled himself into a dive. Tearing through the air, fumes of red from the sheer force of his presence trailing off of him, the devil both disdained and relished the entirety of the battle.
Battles in the Blood War never truly began or ended. They were all extensions of each other, ever fluctuating in intensity. There was never a second of ceasefire or peace within either the Abyss or Baator. Even if the Blood War ever somehow did come to a determined end, the relentless turmoil would persist. Even now, as Bagahlrash butchered the tanar’ri on the desolate plain, demons fought amongst themselves, and devils plotted against one another. It was the nature of all the creatures of the lower realms, of the planes themselves. It was also something that Bagahlrash loathed, for the Arch Devils of Hell cared more for their internal affairs than the Blood War.
Arch Devils were among the most powerful beings in existence. They each prevailed over a specific layer of Hell, one for each level. These powerful fiends, however, were more concerned about their own hierarchy above all else. They incessantly plotted against one another in long, arduous, and seemingly uneventful attempts to dismantle the power of the devil below. The only one who had any involvement in the Blood War was the newest Arch Devil, Bel, who ruled over the uppermost and first layer of Hell, Avernus.
Bel had just recently been made into an Arch Devil. He was at one time a pit fiend, just as Bagahlrash was, and the two were on good terms - as good as terms between devils could be, anyway. They had mutual feelings about the lack of interest in the war of the Rulers Nine. Having been previous allies in battle, they remained such even when Bel was elevated to his prestigious rank, even though Bagahlrash openly coveted the fact that it was not him who ascended. For if it had been him, the countless denizens of Avernus would have been thrown weapons first into the tanar’ric ranks.
The pit fiend sharply moved his wings to slow his descent to a stop as he came close enough to the ground for his feet to touch it. Upon coming in contact with the desiccated crust, the general broke into a sort of absent-minded run. He ploughed through the closest demonic lines like a massive ship through feeble waves, decimating the filing masses of enemies, his mere kicks sending dozens of dretches sailing through the air.
Usually, Bagahlrash would not let other matters tug at his consciousness in the heat of battle, for he was much too brilliant for that. This particular time, however, was an exception. The current tanar’ric horde had no supervising general, which made everything all the less dangerous. With no top ranking warrior, the demons were even more unorganized than usual, with hyaline morale that collapsed as easily as the head of the vrock the general had eaten.
In the most recent battle before this one, Bagahlrash had inflicted a grievous wound on one of the strongest demons that he had ever seen, who also happened to be the leader of the current opposing army. The victim of his strike was a top tanar’ri general whose position in the demonic ranks was about equal to Bagahlrash’s own for the baatezu. The venue for their fight had been just a few hundred feet away from the one the pit fiend stood upon now, and happened only hours before. In fact, many, if not most, of the forces fighting in the current battle were leftovers from the preceding
During that skirmish, while the troops had been slaughtering each other, Bagahlrash and the demonic general Garshalix were entwined in their own battle high above the combatants on the ground. Bagahlrash had thrown his mighty spear, Sky Reaper, into the side of the powerful demon’s front, viciously impaling him. The dishonorable, cowardly (by devil standards) leader retreated, taking the spear with him. Bagahlrash figured that his wound must have been severe enough to keep him away from this day’s battle, but the pit fiend knew he would see him again, for the two were arch-nemeses. Their blood-born rivalry was famous among the ranks of both demons and devils. Some even said that the two were destined to never kill one another, and would be locked in ferocious combat for all eternity. Of course, those were just the foolish ramblings of simple minded troops. If any soldier was caught openly stating that his general could not utterly destroy the other, he would certainly never say anything again.
Bagahlrash continued his present onslaught. Being the mightiest warrior on the field of battle, most tried to divert their advance away from his massive bulk, instead willing to test their odds against entire groups of devils. The practice brought a sinister smirk to Bagahlrash’s face, inflating his ego even larger than it already was. Ribbons of lemures swarmed forward on either side of the great pit fiend, with the bearded devil commanders mixed within them. Siretha and her erinyes forces were hovering above the heads of the dretches so that they could focus all of the attention of their fiery swords on the gorilla-like hezrous that were swatting lemures and crushing them like insects.
An eerie coincidence then came about. As if the bulk of the tanar’ric forces had been reading the thoughts that were perpetually analyzed by Bagahlrash’s brain, a chilling war cry of another band of bloodthirsty vrocks ravaged the acrid atmosphere. Even over the din of the ferocious battle could these earsplitting calls be heard, causing idling troops to fix their gaze on the feathered butchers.
Bagahlrash snarled and finished cutting down what dretches were in arms length of him, and fanned out his wings once again (which resulted in the removal of a few more), and gave them a great downward thrust, the force of which toppled even more enemies that were in his wake.
“Siretha!” the general boomed, his voice carrying into the waves of war even more effectively than the shrill trumpets of the vrocks. As the pit fiend ascended, he soon heard the graceful flapping of comely red wings behind him and the faint sizzle of fire. The group of them sped through the air at the birds whose behaviors were a bit different from their predecessors. They too were carrying small satchels which could only hold the enchanted tools the previous ones had used, but this band was not making to increase their altitude. Instead, they had their eyes fixed on Bagahlrash and his troops. The general regarded them carefully, not knowing what they had in store. And from his distance, he could not see the magical instruments already grasped in a talon of each one.
Before Bagahlrash or any of his company could react, masses of crackling electricity were racing through the air at them. They moved unnaturally, as the vrocks did not even need to throw them. By simply bringing the magic to life and letting go of the weapons with a gentle nudge in the right direction, they sped off at drastic speeds.
“Disperse!” roared the pit fiend, arching his wings at an uncomfortable angle that caused him to make an abrupt stop and shoot automatically a few feet upwards. After the initial ascent, he flapped again to make himself clear of the deadly volley. The general’s size, however, had obstructed the view of several of the erinyes behind him, and they had to make uncharacteristically cumbersome movements to get away. Several of them flapped their wings so hard, in such awkward angles, that gorgeous scarlet feathers were ripped from their resting places and fluttered aimlessly into the carnage below.
Some did not manage to make complete evasions. At least three of the troops were claimed by the lightning. The glowing manifestations of demonic magic erupted on contact into a pulsing, electrical webbing whose thousands of miniscule bolts bit into the devils’ flesh again and again until there was nothing left to bite. The pungent stench of singed skin and hair pervaded the air, and small storms of ash fell from the still-looming clouds of smoke. Bagahlrash roared in disapproval and rage and returned his gaze to the vrocks. The mongrels were no longer there, however, and were now in mid dive towards the battalions on the ground.
“Damned demon bastards!” the general cursed, his roars seeming to shake the very plane itself. “Charge them! Force your flames upon them and make them nothing but dust!” he said in a most authoritative tone. The erinyes would have been fools to disobey. They sped at sharp angles towards the vrocks, blades of flame grasped firmly in their hands.
As they flew, Bagahlrash began to fume in a most literal sense. Wisps of translucent flame began to pour from his body curling and licking the air. He was now hovering in a position where his arms were held horizontally, bent at the elbow and again at the wrist so his palms were facing upwards. The red clouds above and around him began to swirl quickly and violently, being pushed away from the general by some unknown force. The flames that were rising off of his upper body were growing taller and a crack of red and white lightning resounded above him in the clouds.
The spell that the devil was preparing was one of his most potent, and he know that it required a sizable casting time to make sure everything would go correctly. Softly, he whispered an incantation in the infernal tongue. More flames, this time tangible ones, roared to life in his palms. They stretched upwards, spearing the sky with their forked tips. The fires spread across his arms, onto his shoulders, and the back of his neck, until a small wall of flame from hand to hand was rising up from his body. His eyes had faded to gray and the miniscule pupils within them were no longer visible as they rolled into the back of his head.
And then, as if time stopped for a single moment, Bagahlrash’s eyes returned and all sound seemed to be absent. When that mere second ended, the general threw his arms in front of him, and tightened his fingers so they bent inward even more. The Hellish fires that had ignited in his hands poured out from his palms and moved like comets down into the battlefield. The conflagration continued to surge from his hands in two perpetual jets.
The roaring heat came in contact with the ground, and then the devil began to slowly move his arms and the two immense pillars of flame with them. The berserk spell engulfed anything not naturally immune to fire - all of the demons - in its path, disintegrating them instantly. He kept the two blasts ever moving, slicing deep, wide lines into the opposing forces. Very soon, however, he could feel the flames that danced on the back of his neck begin to fade so that only the spaces from hand to shoulder were alight. Then, the fires inched their way down his arms until they got to the elbow, and again until they came to his wrists. Finally, when they vanished in all areas except his hands, he knew that the spell was about to expire and made a final motion by crossing his arms, therefore converging the two jets of fire.
They formed a large and infinitely loud explosion several hundred feet below. When the last of the flames jumped from Bagahlrash’s palms, his shoulders slumped and exhaustion came over him. His dark arcane arts had been drained quickly with the sustaining of his powerful spell, and he knew he would need a good few hours rest to recover fully.
A blinding pain in the general’s thigh and abdomen derailed his train of thought. He looked down at himself, and saw two large arrow shafts sticking out of his hardened scales. Dark, viscous blood was oozing from the entry points, trickling slowly down his front, changing direction every second with the pitch of his scales. The pit fiend then looked ahead and saw yet another band of vrocks, each carrying an arrow demon in their talons.
Arrow demons were large, taller than vrocks (though the vultures usually were hunched over), and looked more like giants than demons. They had primitive faces with large, jutting jaws and low-hanging brows. They were usually bald and had skin of dark, disgusting green. Finally, they came with a set of four arms, which they used to operate their trademark dual-bow wielding strategies.
Bagahlrash snarled and ripped the two shafts of wood from his flesh, but found that the tips broke off before making it through his tough scales, and were effectively lodged within his muscle. This only angered the behemoth more, and he started off towards the fiends in a focused rage.
As he flew, he took note of the destruction he had caused below. Long, charred depressions in the scorched ground stood out like great scars, spattered with the remnants of the hundreds of demons engulfed in the wake of the flames. Blood, ash, and blackened fragments of bone caked the edges of the trenches, and the rank stench of burnt gore perverted the nostrils of all surrounding beings. The devils, of course, had been left unscathed by the spell. Natural immunities to fire made the jets of seething, roaring flames seem like powerful blasts of wind to them.
As Bagahlrash neared the duos of vrocks and arrow demons, most of whom were now firing their long, thick arrows into the lingering erinyes below or the barbazu commanders, he also saw the erinyes ramming their conflagrant swords through the other bird demons they had kept to the ground. The vrocks were not totally helpless, however, and the pit fiend could make out several sword-wielding devils who were laying in grotesque heaps on the bloody, barren land. Their lethal wounds were characteristic of a vrock’s assault - deep, jagged claw marks around their clavicles, chunks of throats removed, eyes punctured, and all around very messy.
The front most arrow demons focused their attention on the general as he drew nearer. Each bestial fiend drew a large arrow from each of their two quivers, and set them into their massive twin bows. They pulled back, and waited for the most advantageous shots possible. Bagahlrash began to swerve and move in an erratic pattern to make himself less of a target. He only wished that he had his great spear grasped firmly in his hands.
A myriad of twanging sounds was the first alert that the volley of arrows was discharged. Bagahlrash spun in mid-flight and veered off to one side. The momentum of his maneuver sent his scale-covered tail careening into the shaft of one arrow, which snapped the wood and swept the projectile away. However, the movement had placed him in the path of a second oncoming missile, which buried itself in the devil’s back, right beneath his left shoulder blade. Though arrow demons were only eight feet tall, their ammunition was large enough to summon a grunt of pain from their target. The general bent his arm to retrieve the arrow, but the strength of his hand snapped it and the metal head clasped onto his muscle.
Another orchestration of arrows forced Bagahlrash to abandon efforts to remove the thing in his back. The devil folded his wings and went into a steep dive, putting himself below the hail of discharged weaponry. The pit fiend swept into ascent, continuing the parabolic arc his flight had formed when he noticed a sudden updraft of crimson wings, pastel skin, and flaming swords.
The erinyes rose into the midst of the demons and began a merciless butchering of them. Siretha had come up with a powerful upwards slash which cleaned straight through an arrow demon and his vrock transport. The two halves of each enemy fell, trailing strings of blood and the fumes of scorched flesh.
Many of the vrocks, their bloodlust now accroaching what judgment and reasoning they had, began dropping their four-armed cargo to engage the new threats. Arrow demons groaned as they fell through the congested air, splattering into the raging forces beneath. The vultures then turned their assault on the erinyes, clawing, biting, and ripping with the primal instinct that they were known for. One beast lunged forward with all four talon-equipped limbs stretching outwards, and grasped the arms and legs of an unfortunate devil in each. A quick, powerful pull in four different directions reduced the baatezu to a mere torso - one which erupted with a fading caterwaul as it fell helplessly to the ground below with vital fluid spraying from the severed sockets.
Bagahlrash finished his arc, appearing in front of the victorious vrock, and threw a closed fist into its face. The beak of the beast shattered and ground into its skull, the following anguished scream distorted by the newly morphed countenance. Blood extravasated from the collapse, matting the feathers around it with its stickiness. Bagahlrash released another punch which crumpled the cranium completely.
Another squawking demon leapt onto Bagahlrash’s back, attempting feverishly to tear through the armor-like scales of the devil and get into the flesh and muscle of the neck. The frantic slashing and biting only managed to inflict a few scrapes before a massive clawed hand closed around the vrock’s head. One firm squeeze was all that was needed to effectively crush the demon’s pate. The slick, gelatinous composure of the internal fluids and leaking, quelled brain made the corpse a bit difficult to hold on to as the mighty general swung the cadaver into another of the tanar’ri sending the live one sailing through the air and the murdered one careening downwards as feed for the feral forces.
Moments later, the rest of the vrocks had been exterminated and below, the remaining tanar’ric warriors were routing and fleeing out of fear and dilapidated morale. Bagahlrash descended so he was a mere fifty feet above the armies, and glided onwards, bellowing new orders.
“Kill them all! Do not let a single feeble dretch escape! Press the attack! On, on, ON!” he rallied. A chorus of roars and victorious growls sounded from the devils as they charged onward, eager to eradicate the demonic scourge. As they pressed forward, Bagahlrash slowed and cast his eyes over the wake of utter repulsion left behind.
The ground was smothered in corpses like some sort of morbid flooring, bodies of both demons and devils, all with ravenous wounds that told varied tales of painful deaths. Some were half burned, remaining flesh crinkled and black and still steaming. Others were impaled on spears and glaives, others still simply mutilated by fang, beak, and claw. Limbs and head lay ripped and askew, far from the bodies to which they were originally attached. Fetid filth was splattered across the entire scene - blood of varying colors, entrails and internal organs left to rot, putrid mounds of color so disorderly that they could not be identified. Any mortal, no matter how much fortitude he had, would retch endlessly upon seeing the tumultuous graveyard that spanned the grounds.
Bagahlrash let his wings drape behind him as he came to a landing, his foot coming down on the corpse of a dretch crushing the body into pulp with a gruesome pop. He, too, possessed some wounds, but nothing major. He was home to a few mere scrapes and cuts and even fewer arrowheads, but nothing that would affect his well being.
Siretha landed next to Bagahlrash, for she had sent her remaining erinyes to aid in the final extirpation. Her rich, black hair was now matted and tangled with blood, sweat, and other fluids. Much of it seemed to be glued to her seductive features, which was now splattered in vital fluid. Her blade had since been released into nothing, and she held a few gashes on her arms. With a blissful sigh she gathered blood from her face on her finger and licked it clean.
“Another battle won,” Siretha said, obviously dismayed that it was over. She most certainly took great pleasure in the butchering of enemies and pain and she began to lick her own wounds.
“Yes,” grunted Bagahlrash, not moving his eyes towards the commander. “But today was quasit play. They lacked an overseer, which made them even weaker than usual. They had no commands for reinforcements. They will return, and I expect a much larger attack. Garshalix will not remain away for long. I shall return to the barracks now, you stay here and oversee the return of the troops.” With that, he vanished in a scarlet shimmer of light.
Siretha shrugged and sighed again, tasting the blood still spattered on her face. The smell of death invaded her nostrils fully, bringing with it the stench of perverse pleasure. She trudged lightly a few feet into the corrosive gore and sent a hand southwards for self stimulation.
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Well there it is. The first chapter is really just setting the scene and providing a bit of history, granted that history is condensed as I did not want it monopolizing the chapter. If you have any questions feel free to ask (preferably via PM unless you ask as part of a review). There won't be a set schedule for updating; when I finish a chapter I'll post it. Chapter two is done a first draft but I need to go back over it and tighten it up.
As always criticism is accepted. Something I'd like to get a general feel for though, in my original drafts I had the names of the demons and devils (erinyes, barbazu, etc.) in italics, though they are normal this go around. I'm not sure if either way adds or subracts from the overall flow or not.
Well, that's about it, then.