EpilougeEndless

Amon climbed over the colossal black gates of Moloch's fortress and silently dropped to the ground. The fortress' many hexagonal holes now faintly shone in the night, obviously showing activity. Amon snorted to himself. He was honestly hoping he would have been the first to arrive, and figured that his brethren would have taken longer than him to heed Azazel. Obviously not. He groaned to himself as he approached.

He made his way into the catacombs and started stalking through the passages. He could easily sense which way led to Moloch's throne room and had no trouble navigating the construction in the black of midnight. Occasionally he heard what sounded like another footstep within the tunnels. He shuddered to himself. He utterly abhorred being alone in a contained space with his brethren nearby. Brethren. The term was used so freely, but it meant so little.

His 'brethren' hated each other. They all hated their different abilities, different views, and they couldn't stand being together, let alone be together in the same room. Some could tolerate another's presence for a time, but prolonged contact always ended in violence. The very thought of meeting them all at once in a contained building made him uneasy. Why having them come together for a conference would seem like a good idea was beyond him. If it were Moloch's idea then maybe, but if Moloch agreed to it, then I guess I have no choice.

Just as he neared the final stretch to Moloch's throne room, he heard the soft padding of multiple feet behind him. He froze to a stop. A mechanical growling breathed down his back, a sound he was too familiar with. Not even bothering to resist, he turned to face the creature just as it pounced him and sent him tumbling into the open.

The Hellcat stuck its powerful paws down and pinned the Lupine warrior to the ground. It bared its fangs and started snapping at his face. Amon held out his wrist and let them catch the cat's grip, to which it wouldn't let go. Collective laughter filled the room. Amon felt a familiar emotion drive heat into his face. "Bist!" he called angrily. "Enough!"

At the sound of metal clicking, the Hellcat's ears drooped and it stopped gnawing. It removed itself from Amon and stalked away to somewhere behind him. Amon rolled over onto his chest and looked up as the Hellcat joined another in prowling behind a filthy blue-colored Neo-Soldier, her form masked in Feline Armor, with long black hair that hung down her shoulders. She let out a soft giggle as the Mechanical beasts lay down at her feet.

"I do apologize," she said softly. "They have had so little opportunity to train." Amon pulled himself to his feet. Bist spoke of her pet's habits as if they could remember, and started stroking the Hellcats as if they could feel. The mechanical beasts weren't alive, and both Amon and Bist knew that, but he was tired of trying to convince her otherwise.

"Where is Nergal?" he asked. Bist shrugged and pointed a spindly claw to a corner of the arena.

"Probably in the crater where Moloch left him." Amon followed her point and saw the crimson Soldier buried in rubble, body frozen in a state of pain. Judging by the body, he had been laying there for several days, and Moloch must have done a good deal of damage to him to have not regenerated yet.

"So good to see you again, Amon." Came a second voice from above. Amon looked to the ceiling just as the Azure dragon-oid descended from his perch. It crossed its arm and slowly started thrashing its tail against the gravel floor. Amon could already tell that Azazel's greeting was more sarcastic than anything, but returned the favor with the vaguest shadow of a bow, as lowering his head would be a grave mistake in this hall where no doubt more of his hated brethren awaited. Azazel returned the gesture, as the two of them were the only ones who stayed willingly loyal to Moloch, despite their differences.

Snickering broke out from further in the hall two more shapes appeared, one after the other. The farthest away was Dagon, and the one that approached was a bronze armored one with long wings dragging behind him. His bird-like motif contributed no elegance to his twisted form. Green eyes shone spitefully from his visor. "The two lapdogs are finally reunited. What do they plan to do next?" He asked as he crossed himself in his dual bronze wings. Azazel was the first to defend.

"You seem to forget, Nisroch. Moloch is the only one of us who still keeps his standing with the Matrix. Keeping our code of loyalty is one step closer to leaving the wastes." Nisroch rolled his eyes from under his Avian mask. All the devilkin kept some command over the drones of the wastes, but in the end Moloch was the only one who remained a true Neo-Soldier under the Matrix's enlistment.

"And you believe that he will honor your wishes? Like he honored the two of you when you delivered Galberos?" He asked. Azazel gave something of a nod.

"Mortal or not, obedience is always rewarded one way or another. And on the side, I'm sure that I'm not the only one here who wants to end up better than Dagon." Just as Azazel intended, Dagon who had stood by Nisroch, his fellow slanderer, lashed out with a tendril. Amon quickly slashed the tendril with his claws, sending Dagon back. Azazel held out his hand in a gesture of example. "And as expected he only serves to axiom himself." Dagon angrily hissed at him and lunged, but once again Amon drove him back. Nisroch attempted to intervene, only for Azazel to retaliate.

Amon noticed from the corner of his eye that Bist was drawing back to watch. Though she was the most well-spoken of the Devilkin, she was happy to wait and pick off whoever was left. Unfortunately, blows were scarcely exchanged before a familiar howling noise broke out as the chamber was filled with a gust of air. The four quickly separated and watched as the giant stepped from the corridors and entered the stadium. Its blank visor surveyed the area, taking every soldier into account. With a stomp of his foot, he released another howl of wind, knocking every Soldier to their knees, to each of their varying degrees of humiliation. Whether it was official or not, Moloch sought to ensure that they respected him always however possible, and often their encounters ended with being brought to their knees one way or another.

Moloch looked at Nergal and saw he had still not awoken. He stomped his foot once more, and finally Nergal responded. With a yelp like someone who is abruptly awoken, his body straightened itself out and he was instantly on his feet. The crimson soldier's eyes darted around, no doubt trying to make sense of his changed surroundings. A second stomp sent him to his knees again, and Nergal decided to go with whatever happened. Moloch stalked about the corridor, eyeing each of his former servants.

Amon found himself searching for the two remaining Devilkin, who hadn't arrived. Amon poked Dagon with a talon. "Didn't you send for them?" Amon hissed. Dagon vigorously nodded, but he too saw no sign of them. Perhaps Duskur would find it amusing to sit back and watch as they were humiliated by Moloch, Amon thought. Or perhaps he hides from shame?

"Why are we here?" Moloch bellowed, breaking everyone's concentration. Naturally, all six were hesitant to answer, as a wrong reply would send them into a wall, and unlike Nergal, they wouldn't awake from their injury in a matter of days. He snorted and asked again. "Why are we here?"

"…The Interlopers." Nisroch answered. Moloch turned one of his six eyes upon Nisroch and met his gaze head-on, paralyzing him.

"What must we do to them?"He asked. So the subject was chosen, but once again, the answers were slow, until Dagon spoke up.

"Kill them, of course—"

"Fool!" Moloch cried as he shot a gust of wind towards the Emerald Soldier, knocking him unto his back. "What good is a dead hero?" The pause told them that they were to answer.

"It depends on the intentions…" Nisroch began.

"Of whom?" Moloch hissed.

"Of who… of who sees them as such?" Nisroch ventured. He was met with a gust of wind, not quite strong enough to knock him over.

"Of whom?" He repeated.

"Ramses, Moloch." Bist answered quickly. Moloch nodded and continued.

"The Dog seeks to make heroes out of these undead warriors, and what is more use to us than a living hero?" He asked the six, daring them to answer. This time, Azazel, master of mind-games, gave his answer.

"Twisted, fallen heroes."He answered. Moloch let out a low growl, but no punishment was walked to his throne and seated himself

"Rise." He commanded. One by one the six rose to their feet. "We, the Devilkin, are the scourge of the mortal soul. We know what the human heart desires and hates, unlike the Soldiers of the Matrix who only know how to destroy." Moloch began. "The Interlopers in their broken state, despite their hidden powers, are nothing more than Mortals. Their hearts and minds are ours to break… one by one."

"We will have to split up and break them individually." Amon observed. Oddly enough, this was close enough to Moloch's plan that the Soldier received no immediate punishment for speaking up.

"…But our party is incomplete." Moloch hissed. Already the thought went through everyone's mind; they knew no true amount to the Interloper's number, therefore it only made sense if they had two more members at the ready. Duskur. I'd think you at least would be the first to answer the call. Where are you hiding now?

Moloch paused and raised his head to the sound of an incoming noise. The others listened as well and heard two sets of footsteps entering the Arena. Moloch snarled as two shapes entered the dim light of the arena. Amon narrowed his eyes. The two demons had arrived.

Belphes came first, lumbering in front of Duskur. His wings were damaged and a horn was fractured. Duskur was too obscured. Duskur didn't look much better; he seemed to be leaning upon his scythe for support. "Where were you?!" Moloch demanded. "Surely you are not so foolish as to keep us waiting?" This implied that Moloch had declared the six present and him in the same party, and therefore his decisions would be expected to be carried out. They didn't mind, of course, as they all hated Duskur more than each other, and that was saying something. Duskur stepped from behind Belphes and started for Moloch, arms weakly hanging at his sides. Even more surprisingly, Moloch rose from his throne and went to meet him. Amon knew that this meant Moloch had considered the two a threat and was going to go deal with them and the remaining had to stay back, but the spectacle of Duskur meeting his end seemed too sweet to miss. As he stepped after Moloch, one by one he was followed after. Nisroch drew the closest to Moloch as he approached Duskur.

"I was… fighting the Interlopers and Ramses. Just as we are supposed to." Duskur said, scarcely keeping the exhaustion from his voice.

"Alone? How did you fare?" He asked. No answer came. Duskur lowered his head as more fatigue started to take its toll. A small murmur of laughter arose from the Devilkin as they stood like an army behind Moloch. "Perhaps you need help?" Though it sounded generous, it was indeed a pure insult to the Neo-Soldier's honor. The laughter grew louder, but he raised his hand to silence it. Duskur said nothing he simply locked eyes with the giant. Nisroch stalked around Duskur, earning an angry snarl from Belphes. Still Moloch said nothing. Duskur glared from under his oddly dim visor.

"Your visage is damaged." Moloch observed.

"What does that matter?!" Duskur demanded. Moloch turned to the other six.

"It seems Duskur is vain enough to neglect his mask." He declared. Duskur shifted his gaze to his former comrades. He could see their spiteful, smug eyes peering at him in the dim light. "The final barrier between our mortal and evolved forms, neglected as such. How disappointing. Such a cunning soldier who cares nothing for his due to his brethren? Disappointing." Duskur's eyes flared.

"What do you know?!" He cried as he raised his scythe, charged its blade and swung it at the ebony giant. Moloch gripped the blade with his claws and glared from his three pair of eyes. The charge was weak enough for Belphes to crush the blade in his grip.

"Is this what you want, Duskur? To face me?" Duskur hesitated and the blade disintegrated. He lowered his was answerless. Nisroch tapped his claws with delight.

"Our leader is challenging you! Don't you feel honored Duskur? Perhaps you too will become like our brothers Amon and Azazel and be defeated, and you can join them in their humbled loyalty to him!"

"You shut up!" Duskur riled and swung the blade back at Nisroch. Moloch threw his arm in the way, blocking the blade and recoiling it back at Duskur.

"Enough. You have no reason to fight any of us. Return. All of you. We have much to speak of." The circle slowly dispersed as the group started back for the throne, almost unable to contain their disappointment. Duskur was easily the most hated among them, and the chance to finally unleash years of frustration with him had vanished. Nisroch was the last to leave. He eyed Duskur, nearly on his knees with fatigue, and for the first time in a mortal's lifetime appeared weak. A smile crept upon his concealed face as he whispered something only loud enough for the Soldier to hear.

"Alas, you have no strength at all, Duskur the Witch." However, he replaced the first sound of the last word, transforming it into a mortal's insult. Amon closed his eyes and braced himself for the clash.

Instantly Duskur readied his scythe and charged, screaming like a banshee, ready to rend the bronze Avian in half. Belphes' eyes flared as it readied its claws should it need to intervene. Nisroch smiled and stood still as the Scythe nearly met the top of his head. And then it happened.

Moloch's wings unfolded as green energy shone into the arena, nearly blinding everyone present. In a blur of motion, he had shoved the scythe back and threw a bulky fist at Duskur. The Soldier held out his long lanky hand and surprisingly caught the blow, sending a small shockwave into the air. Before Duskur could react, Moloch had sent his other fist flying into him, striking him in the face. Duskur was flung into the floor like a flailing ragdoll and crashed into Belphes' legs. Belphes looked down as his partner tried in vain to rise to his feet, only managing to rest upon his hands. The only sound in the building was Duskur's rhythmic, tortured gasps for air.

Amon noticed that Dagon had allowed a smile to creep over his face, and he understood why. After being humiliated again and again, he could watch in delight as Duskur was beaten just as he was. But then he noticed something, as did the other six. Duskur's helmet was crumbling and falling from his face. The silver casing around the back of his head had come loose and fell to the ground. The last remains of the skeletal face struck the ground and disintegrated. And then they all saw it.

Long black hair spilled from the broken casing and dropped far below Duskur's shoulders. With the helmet gone, Duskur's voice and tone took a decidedly softer pitch, becoming almost alien to those who had heard the Soldier's voice before. And then, one by one, the six realized it.

Moloch's unbearable sound of laughter echoed from his figure. "You have nothing left to hide, Duskur. We all know now. You never had a chance resisting all of us."

Amber eyes peered from the long locks of hair and glared, eyes full of venom. "I'll kill you…" the softer voice hissed. "If the Matrix doesn't, I swear I will!" Moloch let out a fake laugh. He started towards the wounded Soldier and readied his claws.

"Shall we test your resolve?" He asked. When he was only within a few paces, Belphes immediately put himself in between Duskur and Moloch.

"Back!" He barked. Moloch lowered his claws and looked upon Belphes questioningly. "If Duskur is to die, I kill her!" Belphes declared. Moloch glared at the humanoid beast. Belphes was guarding Duskur with the resolve of an animal protecting its mate… or its meal.

Moloch scoffed. "Belphes. You are the heir of the title of Belphegor; one of the Seven Lords. Why dirty yourself by serving her?"

"I kill Duskur." Belphes repeated. "She serves me. I decide her fate." He forced out the sentence with visible difficulty. Moloch glared into Belphes' eyes. The two stood there for a while.

"…And you two serve me. Remember that." Moloch hissed. He slowly turned from Belphes and turned to face the six. "We are to hound the Interlopers. Killing them would be a blessing to them, and we are to deny it with all our being. Make them wish they were left to die." Moloch observed the Devilkin. "Beware. Ramses hopes to start a war. I expect you to be ready for one. He has already unleashed the higher numbers in his tier of Followers." Moloch's eyes narrowed. "Questions?" The six quickly informed him of their answer; no. Moloch threw his wings behind him like one would a cape. "Away!"

Obviously having no choice but to obey, lest they end up like Duskur, which was something many of them were still having trouble processing, the Devilkin all dispersed. Azazel, Nisroch, and Nergal flew away and exited through the ceiling's many holes. Dagon left on his own, of course. Bist and Amon started for the exit from which the last two had entered.

Amon watched as Duskur was pulled to his feet… her feet by Belphes. She was obviously too exhausted and discharged to reconstitute her visor. She fell back against Belphes as she let out one last groan of anger. Belphes eyed the two passing by warily. As Amon passed Duskur, he whispered. "I've heard of Ramses' Numbers."

"And?" Duskur spat back.

"…Let's just say… They're not like Thoth or Horus; they don't play nice." With that, Amon left Duskur to cower with her pet… no, he caught himself. Her master. So much made sense now.

As Bist and Amon met with the moonlight, she called to one of her hellcats and started in her own direction. "Duskur's finally out of the way." Amon thought aloud. Bist stopped.

"How? His—her secrets revealed and humbled by Moloch doesn't necessarily mean she's gone."

"No, she's not in control of it all like it seemed… It was just another of her illusions. We really have nothing to fear of her. And that's just one step closer…"

"To ending Moloch?" No answer was received, but both knew what it was, and the thought was mutual. With nary a nod of dismissal, the two parted ways.

Moloch waited until his fortress was completely empty before seating himself upon his throne again. He rested his arms and closed his eyes, allowing himself some rest for the upcoming battle. Reviving the dead and nearly killing one of our own? If it's a war you want, Ramses, it's a war you shall get. The wind howled in the fortress. All was quiet and nothing stirred.

I wrote Phantasm to get my brain going and to cement some ideas I was entertaining. Halfway through I decided to use it as an excuse to get attention on the internet, and my initial plan of three chapters unexpectedly extended itself. My original image shattered, and I had to create a lot of it as I went while trying to keep the story consistent.

This story was meant to be about Storm, no more than a brief piece about him. I never meant to emphasize on the Devilkin or the Followers and their conflict, it was merely meant to be Storm in the middle of it. But no. I had to start serializing it. I blame myself completely, of course. In the course of this story's life (two years, which is way more than I hoped) I had already conceived the story's end and forgot much of its beginnings. This was meant to be the first act, a mere preview. It extended itself. If I ever write another work in the same universe I intend to rid this off as non-canon. Not the characters or the setting, but this story in my multiverse is non-canon.

To make myself feel better, let's just say that this story really ends at entry three, and the rest is me experimenting. Anyways, I do appreciate the people tuning in and reading this, and to any regular visitors, I would like to thank you for the views. I plan on working something a little more familiar for my next project (whenever that shall be).

Thanks again, ~HunterKR.