Death to the High Lords 16:
The Legions of the Damned
The Orcs charged at Asmodeus' waiting troops, their purple skin taught on their bones, their eyes sunken and bloodshot, their arms barely managing to find the strength to lift their mighty war-hammers.
The Mentor watched horrified as the tribes that had remained left behind and forgotten in the Fairlands rebelled against him. Never had he imagined that he would see this day. He called out to his Trolls to engage them, and a fierce battle between the hammer-wielding factions ensued, freeing up the Mistresses to counter another threat. What they did not account for was what came swooping through the double doors on the other side of the chamber.
Zalador, leader of the Dark Angels, and his four compatriots sped towards the battle. Asmodeus' hopes rose, thinking the odds were now more even. But when Zalador flew down and took off Dekara's head with one swipe from his broadsword, his smile slipped entirely from his face, replaced by a livid anger. He ran at Zalador as he landed and swiped his sword blindly at him. Zalador parried the blow easily and kicked Asmodeus in the stomach, sending him winded and sprawling to the chamber floor.
"We told you we do not serve the Dark Gods, Asmodeus. We serve the Legions of the Damned, the ones you see before you now."
Asmodeus looked around at the starved, blood-thirsty Orcs pummelling a swathe through the less experienced Trolls. These cannot be the Legions of the Damned, he thought. There must be something more than this behind it all. "Why did you help us in the caverns?" he asked numbly. He had to know.
Zalador lazily hacked down a Dark Mistress that tried to slash him across the back. "Because our Master told us to lead you towards him. And if that meant helping you so that you would survive, so be it."
"You said you did not have a Master!" Asmodeus tried to stand up, but Zalador pressed his boot against the Mentor's chest, holding him down.
"I lied," said the Dark Angel with a sly grin. He looked up. Asmodeus followed his gaze to a balcony at the top of the chamber with a pair of closed curtains at the entrance. The curtains were thrown aside, and there stood Brandicor, resplendent in the red livery and golden breastplate of the Avatar. The armour shone brightly in the torchlight, giving him an almost saintly appearance. The look of triumph on his face belied any saintly intentions however.
"Welcome back, Asmodeus," he shouted in his booming voice, a grin cresting his noble chin. He held the bucket shaped golden helm under his arm. The jewel-encrusted sword hung at his hip in it's scabbard.
"Brandicor," whispered Asmodeus in disbelief.
"The Legions of the Damned," the Avatar continued, "Such an appropriate name for this band of savages that I found wondering through the wastelands. Your Master left them behind to defend his greatest gain, not knowing that they would soon be close to starvation."
The battle raged on, and Asmodeus' troops were backing themselves into a wall, trying to hold off the Orcs.
"You see," said Brandicor, "After the defeat of King Reginald, I escaped the Sunlit Kingdom through some of the forgotten passageways beneath it, following them until I reached the Temple of the Dark Angels. The gates seemed to open for me, and when I went in, there was Zalador, waiting for me with an offer I could not refuse.
"He asked me if I wanted revenge against you and your Master. I said that I did, more than anything else. At least, at the time. So they were kind enough to help me out with something that I had in my knapsack."
Brandicor reached into his breastplate and pulled out an iron chain.
On the chain was the Talisman of the Horned Reaper.
"I waited years to use it. But I could not use it on you because you still commanded some loyalty from the Reaper after the King's demise. So I had to get you in the position where you were stripped to the bare bones, where the Horned One could no longer have an interest in you. Then I tested it."
"At Bel-Pelar," said Asmodeus, mostly with disgust, but also with an underlying admiration.
"Of course. Zalador and his people demand a sacrifice, and they told me that the Horned Reaper would satisfy any obligations outside the walls of the Temple. Besides, the Messengers Guild was too risky to maintain. They could not be relied upon to deliver during a crisis like your return. So I thought it best to…give them an early retirement."
Asmodeus smiled. That was just the sort of touch he would have come up with. "I'm impressed, Highness. So, what do you intend to do with the talisman now?"
"Provide Zalador with his sacrifice of course." Brandicor held the Talisman aloft. "Cadaverus Reapus!"
There was a burst of fire, which radiated out into a circle of flame. Manna spiralled upwards from the centre, forming a fireball from which emerged the blade of a scythe. The hand holding the handle was red and scaly, and the arm and body following it was a figure from nightmare. The Horned Reaper roared, holding the scythe aloft, his metal clad cloven hooves astride the flames as they died away.
Both armies stopped fighting and saw the massive figure look around at the creatures around him, his glowing yellow eyes sizing up his opposition.
Zalador laughed wickedly and flew up to the balcony to join Brandicor who clutched the talisman in his hand.
"Kill them all!" yelled Brandicor, holding the talisman up so the Reaper could see it.
"Yes, my Master," he said, his voice a deep, rumbling, crackling sound like an imminent thunder storm. He bared his huge teeth and launched himself at the nearest creature.
What followed was utter carnage. Bodies flew apart in front of his advance as he swung his scythe from left to right, like a farmer cutting down corn. Asmodeus crawled his way through the crowd towards his own troops, ignoring the cries of despair from the Orcs, and the roars of the Dragons that were now fully awake in their cells.
He scrambled up as he reached the two Dark Mistresses that were left. All the creatures in the chamber were fighting bravely against a creature that everyone knew was indestructible. The Reaper was halfway across the chamber, shrugging off hammer blows and lightning bolts. Brandicor simply looked on with an amused look on his face. Asmodeus was boiling with anger at the idea of being outclassed by someone who his behind the guise of the greatest hero the Uplanders ever had. He gripped his sword, wishing that he could reach the Avatar and take at least one good swing at him.
He turned to Melithrion. "Blast that balcony!"
Melithrion gaped at the Mentor. "What for? To set the Dark Angels upon us as well?"
"At least Brandicor will be forced to fight! And he'll have the Orcs to contend with as well."
"Not for much longer, he won't!" Melithrion gestured at the Reaper's work piled up behind the rampaging creature. "They're nearly all dead!"
"Just do it!"
Melithrion summoned his energies and shot a large fireball at the support strut of the balcony. The right hand side of the balcony tipped over, sending Brandicor toppling over sideways. In trying to grab the side of the balcony to hold on, the chain holding the talisman snapped. He tried to grip it, but it slipped out of his hand and fell along with his helmet to the chamber floor below.
The helmet landed on top of the talisman with a clang, standing perfectly upright and hiding the talisman. Asmodeus saw his chance and started for the helm. Zalador spotted him and sneered, and nodded at one of his brethren to fetch the talisman. The Dark Angel swooped down from the safety of the ceiling and swung his broadsword at Asmodeus who managed to roll out of the way. The sword knocked the helmet aside, exposing the talisman.
Brandicor saw the talisman lying on the ground and let go of the balcony. He landed heavily next to the talisman, rolling with the impact and landed scant feet away from it. Asmodeus and the Avatar made a grab for it and they both ended up gripping it, trying to wrestle it from each other's grasp.
The Reaper had finished with the Orcs, all of whom were lying in pieces in the chamber. The smell was unholy and seemed to be making the Reaper even angrier.
Zalador was watching the struggle between Mentor and Avatar with uncertainty. He could not risk damage to the talisman by hurling a spell, nor could he attack them for the same reason.
Asmodeus and Brandicor were now rolling around on the floor, the talisman still clasped between them. Sweat had broken out on both their foreheads, their fingers becoming slippery. After a titanic effort, Asmodeus pulled with all his might only for the talisman to fly off into the battling crowd.
Brandicor scooped up his helmet and slipped it over his head. Now he looked every inch like the Avatar. He drew his sword and said, "End of the line for you, Asmodeus. Another illustrious career comes to an end."
Brandicor raised his sword above his head, ready to deliver the killer blow. It swung down, Asmodeus closing his eyes.
Another blade stopped the blow from landing. Asmodeus opened his eyes and saw Zalador blocking Brandicor's blade.
"What is the meaning of this?" said Brandicor through gritted teeth.
"A sacrifice we did indeed demand, Highness. But not at the expense of our people." Zalador glanced down at Asmodeus. "You have earned a reprieve from the Legion. Go and claim your prize."
Asmodeus scrambled to his feet, picking up his sword and running into the crowd. He pushed and shoved aside his own men and found himself face to chest with the Horned Reaper. The Reaper growled down at him, "Traitor!" before swinging his scythe down. The blade sank into flagstone as Asmodeus dodged aside. The reaper pursued him, giving the remaining troops of the Keeper time to recoup and encircle the Reaper. Asmodeus spotted the talisman as the troops moved aside. He ducked another swing from the scythe and slid on his stomach along the floor.
"NO!" cried Brandicor as Asmodeus snatched up the talisman and held it up in front of him like a shield. The Reaper stopped dead in his tracks and a heavy silence descended on the chamber.
He considered the talisman closely. Then he looked at Asmodeus. His burning eyes bored into the Mentor's. Even Zalador and Brandicor had stopped fighting briefly to watch the scene.
The Reaper grinned and moved his taloned hands on the scythe blade. "You did not summon me." He lifted the scythe blade, poised to strike the Mentor down. Then, a pair of apparently insubstantial arms grappled with the Reaper, pulling him backwards with great force.
"That's my Mentor you're threatening!" said a familiar pair of voices.
The Keeper was grappling with the Reaper, the Horned One trying desperately to hold on to the scythe. Asmodeus could not believe his eyes.
"Keeper!" cried Asmodeus, "How?"
"No time for explanations, Asmodeus. Destroy the amulet!"
"But Keeper…"
"Do it, Asmodeus!"
Brandicor took advantage in the lull in the battle to thrust his blade deep into Zalador's midriff. The Dark Angel cried out in agony and slumped to his knees. Brandicor pulled his sword out of the wound, leaving a weakened and shuddering Zalador. The other Dark Angels swooped down to defend their leader, but kept a wary distance from the Avatar.
Asmodeus picked up the nearest war-hammer and placed the talisman on the ground in front of him. He hefted the heavy weapon, hardly able to lift it over his head.
"Too weak!" shouted Brandicor as he slowly made his way towards the Mentor, keeping a watchful eye on the Dark Angels, "Always too weak to finish the job. That's been your trademark all the way through this campaign, Asmodeus. You've failed! No-one is strong enough in your army any more! I've won!"
Asmodeus felt the words sink into him like sword strokes, cutting his resolve and his stamina. He dropped the war-hammer and wandered over to the side of the chamber, near one of the cells. "Not quite yet, Highness." He lifted a pale arm and pulled a lever on the wall. The cell doors slowly opened.
The Dragons, finally unleashed after years of imprisonment, slunk out of their cells, looking extremely angry and making a bee-line for the Avatar. Brandicor began to panic, now being faced on two sides by hostile forces. He ran for the talisman. Asmodeus kicked it and sent it skittering along the floor towards the warring Keeper and Reaper. It slid to a halt between them. The Keeper snatched it up.
"We have it!" the Keeper cried triumphantly.
The Reaper snatched at it. "Give it to me!"
"No, Reaper! Not this time!"
The Keeper crushed it in it's insubstantial fist.
The dust of what was once the Talisman of the Horned Reaper swirled out of the Keeper's hand and became a small whirlwind that surrounded the Reaper. The Reaper cried out in anger and despair as he was consumed in a fireball which radiated out into a circle of flame. The Keeper faded into a few shards of Manna which slowly dissipated in the air as the circle slipped out of sight.
Brandicor was dumbfounded at the sight. He stared at the glowing form of the Keeper. "Flamuli..?"
"And Calisto both!" shouted the Keeper, "But you can call me Keeper. Or sir, seeing as you are about to beg for your life. The Dark Angels look none to pleased with you, and I daresay the remains of my armour have a bone to pick with you. If you'll pardon the expression."
The Keeper turned to the Dragons. "Welcome back, Firethorn. It pleases me to welcome you back to the ranks."
The only Dragon crested with a pair of golden horns bowed before his Keeper.
Brandicor looked around frantically, desperately trying to find a way out, or even some support. There was neither. "Wait!" he pleaded, "I'll give you everything, Keeper! Everything! The land, the towns, the cities!" Creatures and beings were closing relentlessly in an ever tightening circle.
"Brandicor…your lordship! I want nothing from you that I would have much more fun taking away!" The Keeper smiled wickedly.
The despair on Brandicor's face became mulish anger. He swung the Avatar's sword around in a wide arc. Few were of the persuasion to avoid it. And as the beasts of the Underworld finally became too numerous to hold off with a few sword swings, Brandicor, Highest of the High Lords, Avatar of the Sunlight Kingdom, met his gruesome and untimely end.
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