Chapter 11 The Human Resistance

"How many were lost?" A man speaks. His clothes are covered in blood, the blood of his family. His tone is that of a leader. His bald head, covered with sweat, gleam against the fire built into the mud-brick hearth.

"It's hard to tell. We would've counted the heads, but some…it was difficult to tell what was what, didn't know if you were looking at a head or not…" answered a second man. Long dark hair covered his face. Both men were dressed in common clothes, simple shirts, dark pants and sandals.

The first hung his head in his hands. Sounds of those who "survived" the attack resonated through the walls of the underground hideout, screams of those that were dying, screams of those who wished they were dead. No one was silent, except for Anna.

Huddled up in a corner, facing the wall, her thoughts ran rampant. How did we not predict this? Why did they kill so many? How did they even know? Were they waiting all these years? Why didn't it kill me…?

The first man touched Anna's shoulder, startling her a little. "I know this is a silly question but how are you holding up?" She simply smiled and nodded her head slightly; her young eyes were still bloodshot from her cries of sorrow hours before.

"Abel was a great man. He died with honor. He left you with his legacy. You will always see part of him in your beautiful daughter."

Anna looked up to a small cradle fashioned out of wicker and vines. Inside, sleeping peacefully, was an infant girl covered in warm, white cloth. Has it really been two years already…..Anna thought.

The man continued to speak as he wrapped his arm around her, "You have his message of hope within you. You can lead us, I know you can…"

Anna did not respond to his words of encouragement. Her frozen face betrayed her anguished thoughts of the hours before. As she sat there, the image of Abel's face as he breathed his last repeatedly flashed past her mind's eye. All she could think was: why? Why did they have to take the man who had given me hope again? Why have we been subjected to such enduring torture? What sins are we being punished for? This is no way to live.

The long-haired man walked over to another man at a large table, who was fashioning weapons to fight the demons, and lifted a large crystal ball accented in pewter. A silver liquid sloshed inside the hollow ball. "What is this one?" He asked.

The man behind the table, face covered by large glasses, didn't take his eyes away from his work. "It's quicksilver, infused with the light of the full Moon, along with White Oak tincture suspended in a cohobation of aqua vitae and spiritus salis. I've added a triturate of Luna's Tears for protection, and some aqua fortis for good measure. There's a funny story the White Oak tincture, you would not believe how much dew I had to distill and—"

"Please Ivan, spare me the boring details. Just, what does it do?"

"—Ahem, well," The man got up from the table and walked over to a pile of demon carcasses that had accumulated during the night. Raising the glass orb above his head, he smashed it on one of the corpses. The glass shattered and as the silver liquid erupted over the body of the demon, it twitched and convulsed. Finally, it dissolved into nothing. "You see..." he picked up a piece of the orb and stuck his finger in some of the concoction. "It hurts them...but not us. Call it 'Holy Water'."

The spectacle caught the eye of Anna, who walked over to the man, "Ivan, will that work on the big ones?"

The men look at her, surprised that she had spoken.

"You mean like that large light-beast? Or that...polycephalic ice-hound?"

"Yeah." She nodded. Her eyes began to fill with something, like a seed had been planted within her.

"I honestly have no idea. Unless I have a specimen to examine, I can't know for sure. These 'devils' are a lot stronger, probably due to the high coherence of their etheric and astral bodies. We haven't found anything bigger than these fodder demons, which are inherently unstable due to their method of physical manifestation. Not even so much as a corpse."

The feeling in the atmosphere began to drop but one man broke the silence, attempting to lighten the dark mood, "Ha hah! That-a-boy, Ivan! I always knew that brain of yours would come in handy one day!"

The long-haired man put down the Holy Water and lifted a large green orb, "And this one? More alchemy?"

"It recovers lost vitality. In case you get hurt, ingest this and you will be as good as new. I…haven't thought of name for that one…I don't have much imagination…"

"Well, as long as everything works to get those damned Flies out, I don't care if any of it has a name or not…"

A man milling in the crowd yelled over the murmuring, "How are we gonna get rid of all of them?"

The bald-headed man opened his mouth to talk, but Anna spoke, now standing at the table. "We can't. We just need to show them we aren't open to being nice neighbors. Abel once told me that it is in our darkest hour that we must be steadfast. And it is in this hour that we also find hope. Who knows, all of the demons can't be evil, maybe we'll find one that will help us…" Her thoughts were locked on Sparda, the demon who spared her life.

Protests were heard from all over. "With all due respect Anna, that is blasphemy. Help us? Why would they ever help us?" She turned to a large group of people; people who had lost faith, who had lost everything.

"You've seen how bad it can get. You've seen what our own kind, our own people, are capable of. If there are humans as evil as any devil, then why aren't there demons that are as kind and compassionate as humans?"

"Demons are demons, humans are humans, end of story. We need to kill as many of these things as we can and that's the only thing that matters to me. But how are we going to do that when some of them seem like they can't be killed?" called a man from the back. He was backed up by the rest of the crowd, full of adrenaline and anxiety.

"OK, then," Anna smiled and reached the table, lifting a large weapon that had been worked on for years. Capable of firing small balls of iron, they called this gaudy weapon a pistol. "You just saw what some of these weapons can do..."

She turns back to the crowd and fills the pistol with iron balls. "We simply bring their Hell to them…" Her eyes don't appear as young anymore. Mere minutes ago, they were those of an innocent girl, now, they are those of a warrior.

"How many were killed?" Mundus' deep voice, ever present yet rarely apparent in Hell, echoes in his benevolent white hall. Sparda stands with Beowulf and the remaining Vanguards and Frosts from the battle.

"Thousands throughout their world have fallen." Sparda answers. The inexact number from Sparda puzzles Mundus, but he continues.

"Were any difficulties encountered?"

"A few dozen escaped…we have Beelzebub's burrowing to find them."

"I cannot say I am very pleased with the fact that humans were able to out-smart you, Sparda, but I am pleased nonetheless" Mundus pauses for a brief moment, "What do you think of the human world?" he asks Sparda.

Sparda had never given it much thought. He was torn; on one hand, his demonic soul screamed about how horrible and disgusting it was. On the other, his mind rambles on about how majestic it is, the beauty of it…

"It is…" his words trail off… "…Manageable…"

"Excellent. Sparda…you will be in charge of planning my rule over these two worlds. You will spend much time in their world. Do you believe you can handle it?" Mundus' question drips with sarcasm.

"For you, Master, of course." Sparda's words are equally sarcastic. Besides…he thinks…it's time not wasted on you…

A voice comes from behind the throne of Mundus. "My Lord, allow me to accompany Sparda," the voice seems to seep venom as the name is pronounced, "I could be of great…assistance to him." This demon appeared to be very similar to Sparda but had wings made of thick black feathers and more pronounced horns.

"No Azrael, this is to be Sparda's mission and his alone."

"But, Master-"

"Never question my will, servant! You shall do as I say."

The demon lowers his head in restrained indignance and glances over at Sparda with vindictive eyes, and Sparda glances back aloofly, creating an awkward tension. "Yes master" he growls.

"Now, as Sparda will be in the human realm, you will be here. You are now, as ever before, charged with maintaining and expanding my rule in the unconquered lands of the Underworld. Do I make myself clear, Azrael?"

"Yes, Master." The reply comes through fiercely clenched teeth.

"Good, now begone from my presence. With Sparda spending much of his time in the Human World, I am moving Beowulf to first-in-command of the legions of Hell. Alastor will be joining you from now on, Beowulf." As Alastor enters the room, a rogue's gallery-of-sorts takes shape; three high-ranking demons, all similar in appearance, standing in the formation of Mundus' eyes, with Beowulf the dead center. "Sparda, return to the Human World. Continue work there as usual. Report back in one week time……"