Chapter 15:

The Demon and Offerings

The enemy's massed ranks charged forward, spilling over and through their broken defensive walls, charging shoulder to shoulder with swords drawn, shouting curses and taunts at the forces of the Black Flame who were standing upon the bridge that had opened the assault into the territory of the heroes. The attackers were now the defenders, and they dug in their heels, mindful that the Keeper would execute anyone who attempted to flee. He marched up and down the line, shouting to his warriors, bloodied blades held in either hand until finally, he took his place at the center of the first line, glaring at the rapidly closing heroes, "Lock shields and prepare defenses!"

The enemy rushed forward, a mix of white robes, dull grey tunics, forest green vests, and fire red tunics, eagerly charging towards the lines of glimmering warriors. More warriors followed, rushing forward, these bearing shields and brandishing heavier weapon. A storm of color, a roaring and charging mass of nearly two hundred heroes against the eighty or ninety warrior of the Black Flame, heavily outnumbering them two to one.

"Brace!" Keeper Firestorm shouted as the enemy's supporting Fairies and Archers unleashed a deadly salvo that leaped towards the Black Flame's lines. The glowing projectiles clashed and shattered against the magic shields, the impact reverberating a deep, gong like sound, the shields flashing a multitude of colors as they absorbed and reflected the salvo.

Behind him, the ritual reached its zenith and suddenly, the Lava River exploded outwards and upwards, liquid fire raining back down. A portal with jagged, teeth like edges as if it was a mouth from hell, had suddenly opened, spewing chunks of molten rock and stone in the air. It was further accompanied by a burst of pure mana and the roar of demonic anger. Then, it rose out of the fiery gap, a massive entity composed of flame, wrath, chaos, and destruction, angered at having been summoned to the mortal realm… but then such a demon is always angry.

It's roar shook the bridge and surrounding ground like a sonic hammer, throwing the charging heroes off their feet. The bridge rippled and shook as stalactites came tumbling down from the cavern ceiling far overhead, like knives that shattered upon impact, sending stone splinters flying in every direction. Its feet slammed to the ground, sending another ripple of mana through the roiling river that lay behind the collected might of the Black Flame, the inner fire, reflected in his eyes, rivaling the raw destructive carnage of the mighty river.

The demon was huge, at least twice the nine foot height of the Master Researcher, and if he had flesh and bone that could be weighed, his mass would have come to several tons. He stood on thick, heavily muscled, dog-like legs, supporting a barrel chest that measured six feet across, just as heavily muscled as its legs. Raw strength and brutal power was clearly visible in his thick shoulders. Fingers and toes were tipped with black, adamantine claws and very likely indestructible. Large heavy wings that were joined mid-back were unfurled to their full span, almost fifteen feet across, and looked as if they were madeof leather wrapped chain. His hide a dark brown, streaked red and black as if cooked by the hell fires he resided within, a growling visage like that of a hell-spawned lion, blood spilling down from between its teeth. The massive demon looked down at Keeper Firestorm, and a deep growl resonated within its throat, the smell of burning tar and brimstone filled the air, "You dare summon me?"

With no trace of fear visible in his face or eyes, the Keeper advanced two steps closer to the massive beast, as the forces of his enemy drew ever closer, unleashing a second barrage, that again dissipated against the defenses he had set in place, "I dare to summon you Daemon. You serve the Dark God Kharnax, who created you. I call upon you for your aid against that!" Firestorm spat the last word as he pointed towards the still charging ranks of heroes. Firestorm stared into the jaundiced gold yellow eyes, ""I know you true name," he paused for a fraction of a second, before whispering, "Chirox."

The demon stiffened for a moment, "As the ancient rules dictate, so shall I serve," the Demon's anger grew, "But I do not serve you," it hissed the word, loading it with derision and hatred, "mortal, without a price!"

The Keeper gestured outward with a single hand, the charging ranks of the enemy now only tens meters away, "Smite them, and offerings shall be raised to honor you," he spoke casually, "Smite them and offerings shall be made to the God who is your father."

Both of the daemon's heavily muscled arms rose, as it gathered raw mana from the surrounding air, forming massive balls of magma from seemingly nothing and nowhere, before hurling both skyward. The massive projectiles broke apart, and suddenly, there were innumerable bolts of flaming metal death, streaking down the length of the entire bridge, ensuring that there was no safe place to hide from the demonic artillery barrage.

The daemons magic rained down akin to the most unmerciful kind of rain. Warriors who had been charging forward suddenly found themselves split from crotch to crown by the demonic fire. Those who sought shelter behind shields found them shattering, along with the bones in the arms. The orgy of decimation continued to fall, pulverizing the flesh of fairy, human, elf and even the flagstone ground with equal ease. The fire that struck the ground continued to burn, growing outward, seeking fuel as if it possessed an ancient, evil intelligence that used the flesh, armor and weapons of the heroes as that fuel. Cries of agony and screams of fear ripped through the air as morale collapsed and courage broke.

"Your will is done," hissed the demon, "Remember your oath to Kharnax! Remember your oath to me! The offerings!" The Keeper nodded and with that, the demon erupted into a black and golden fire that rapidly covered its entire form. The fire marred it from the sight of those present, especially the heroes struck dumb by the slaughter of nearly three quarters their number in a solitary pass. The raging flames faded but the demon had departed long before they had extinguished.

His bloodied blades still in his hands he stared at the ranks of dazed and broken heroes. The Lord of the Land stood his ground, injured and bloodied. He rallied his forces to him and began a headlong retreat into their own Dungeon. It started as a disciplined tactical retreat, but with a wordless roar from the Keeper, the heroes' retreat turned into a full rout, the Black Flame slamming into the disoriented heroes. Blood sprayed as several heads were separated from their accompanying bodies as Keeper Firestorm struck hard, severing heads with the larger and heavier sword Sange, while the lighter blade Yasha eviscerated another foe before arcing in an upward slash. The slaughter was fast and furious, blood staining his weapons and armor red from the slaughter The enemy's retreat faltered when the Lord of the Land was ploughed by the shoulder of the Keeper before he spun low, his reverse grip upon Sange allowing him to cut through the Lord from right hip to left hip, before completing the spin and Yasha punched through the helm and forehead of the Lord. He was dead before his lower half touched the floor, and with that, the battle seemed to stop, the heroes shocked and rendered incapable of battle, as if they had felt the death of their Lord within themselves. Around him, the warriors of the Black Flame pressed the advantage, butchering the heroes that stood and stared.

He cleared his throat, "Gazz, I want prisoners. Drahuliska," he paused and reconsidered, choosing his words carefully, "Erk, Destroy the enemy Dungeon Heart," He turned to Drahuliska, "With me. Preparations have to be made for the offerings to Kharnax and the Daemon."

The trio acknowledged their orders but Drahuliska questioned his, "How many offerings shall we prepare?"

"Spare the regular contingent of useful humans and their families. The rest shall be offered."

The warriors of the Black Flame stormed onward, and minutes later the explosion rocked the surroundings while walls began to crumbled, and the flag stones upon the floor faded away leaving only dirt behind. The collapse of the Dungeon Heart and all of its magic left the place a crumbling ruin. The portals that lead to the surface shimmered and wavered in the air, and they accepted the invitation, moving through them to arrive in the castle of the Lord of the Land. Through its windows and doors, the conquerors stormed outward, capturing all who crossed their path, killing those who resisted, while the Keeper and his Inner Circle moved to the highest point of the Castle to cast the Rising Dark to damn the land for an eternity, the sun forever cast out to allow darkness to reign as Keeper Firestorm arranged the cute pretty lives of the local inhabitants to suit his personal needs.

Two days had passed since the death of the Lord of the Land and the defeat of his army. Those forty eight hours had been more than enough time for the forces of the Black Flame, led by their Keeper, to decimate every major city in existence. The dark magics they had employed had corrupted and blighted the land and those who had sworn allegiance and loyalty had damned their souls.

Two days, and the massive city that was at the heart of the realm had become an outpost of chaos and carnage. Where the Black Flame once exercised restraint there was none here. Black oily smoke hung low over the shattered ruins of the land like a joyless carpet, fires smoldering and burning from spells. Barring a small area where certain humans had been spared on account of the skills they possessed, composed of primarily the trades and craftsmen, remained trapped within a cage of terror, and would remain so until the end of their days. The fortunate ones were those caged away, forced in to eternal servitude.

Others still slunk through the ruins of their home and city, desperately seeking food and water, where little to none could be found, seeking a weapon with which they could defend themselves with should they be found. No weapon existed, but these were the few humans, elves, dwarves or fairies that refused to surrender to the "mercy" of the Black Flame. It was only a matter of time before they would be killed or captured by one of the numerous patrols that roamed through the savage lands of what was once a peaceful nation.

The unfortunate ones were those who had been captured or surrendered to the Black Flame in a vain hope for mercy. They were no longer people, now reduced to mere cattle. The livestock were herded to a single camp where thousands of men and women waited, dressed in filthy rags, left to wallow in the mud, their only source of water being the tarnished rains that feel from blackened skies that hid the rays of the sun. These unfortunate soul were herded like livestock to camps where they all awaited their turn to be the offering.

The fear and terror that must have raced through those unfortunate people was incalculable. They could still smell the rich copper like smell of blood, still hear the sound of tearing flesh and dripping blood, the screams of inhuman pain and agony that were torn from the mouths of those whose "turn" had arrived. Elf, Dwarf, Fairy, male, female, or a child, it mattered not who you were, only that you were alive and that you were not of the Black Flame. It meant that your turn would come, and you would have to make your unwilling offering to the God that the Black Flame holds dear to its corrupted and twisted heart.

The Dragon mentor of the Black Flame, Gazz, stalked the length of the camp, staring in the cages searching for the next offering. The cages were more like livestock pens, using traditional wooden walls and gates to house the captives, magic ensuring that none could leave the enclosures unless the door was opened and the magical barrier neutralized. The pens were arranged in groups of fifty, and there were eight such groups. A total of four thousand individual offerings for the Dark God, and at any one time only ten offerings can be made. Drahuliska and Gazz had made certain to triple verify the necessary steps to avoid having their own souls cast in damnation.

Gazz, for all his attention to detail sought the perfect offering to continue the cycle, whereas Drahuliska was more interested in the functionality of the offering than in their perfection, for every single one of the captives met the predetermined criteria. It was the Keeper however, who found the next offering as he glanced in the first cage and nodded to the Troll guard, "Bring the Fairy to me, now!"

The field deactivated, the Troll opened the door and grabbed the Fairy by an arm, half pulling half dragging her from the cage before slinging her in to the muddied broken ground at the feet of the Dungeon Keeper. He bent over and gripped her arm, pulling her upright. She twisted and struggled in vain, trying to break free of the vice grip upon her arm, "You fear what is to come don't you little one? Why not try some of your magic?" he laughed, a cruel sound, "Of course. Without your wings, you are no Fairy - you are a mere mortal, with all of the same weaknesses that the human form possesses."

The eight different groups of cages formed the eight points of the Dark Star, the mark of the Dark Gods, and the sacrificial alters were all located in what would be the center of the massively constructed shape. It was her turn to make an offering to the God. The Keeper was eager to do so, as he dragged her carelessly when she refused to walk.

These alters had been set up in what used to be one of the many entertainment squares or venues that existed within what was once the capital city of this land, not that much of it remained. The great eight pointed icons stood tall, each almost twenty feet tall, and were surrounded by Warlocks and Dragons, all of whom were splattered with blood, both stale and fresh, even as the rite began again for the four hundred and thirty sixth time. He lifted her high overhead, dangling her by her arm even as she twisted in his grip. He could feel the fear, the terror screaming through her veins as she trembled, "Bothers of the Black Flame, I come, and bear a new offering for our God."

The scene is something from the depths of a nightmare, the butchered corpses scattered all around the ten alters, creating a macabre carpet of broken limbs and bodies. By magic, the mentors of the Black Flame appeared before her, the Dragon taking his time examining her, even as the Warlock, his robes covered in blood, spoke in a voice that was somehow still human, a gentle soothing rumble that made her sick to her stomach, "Impeccable timing Keeper, for one of the offerings just died," he gestured towards one of the alters, the sixth one in the row, which was being taken down, still with the corpse of a young male attached to it.

Her mind noted the cuts carved in to the body, the tortures that she realized would be done to her. What little courage she had left fled her as her sanity stood upon the edge of the abyss. She did the only thing she could do, even as she continually struggled to break free of the iron claw grip upon her upper arm. She screamed, long and loud, screamed in fear of the agony she would have to endure before death claimed her. Her eyes darted to the other alters where the icons still stood, their offerings attached with lengths of red rope. Her scream intensified as she gained a terrifying comprehension of what was to happen to her, all of her muscles go limp, and she trembles as she sees nothing but the eight-pointed icon that is to be her death.

It is an altar, a banner, a standard. And her body, flesh and blood, is to be the offering. The young man who preceded her had been young and muscular, with a mop of blonde hair, but he was now a lifeless corpse, lifted away from the lowered icon that was treated with unmatched reverence and respect, before he was flung away carelessly with lengths of red rope or perhaps chain trailing from the outstretched ankles, waists and wrists.

The quartet of Warlocks worked with smooth practiced efficiency, as the offering was tossed towards them. The Mentors caught her and held her down, even as knives shredded the flimsy robes she wore. Slowly, reverently, they carry her over to the icon. Even though she knew it was futile, she continued the struggle twisting and straining in their grip, the primal animal instinct for survival having taken over.

She was spread-eagled, a Warlock to a limb as the voices of the four Warlocks were joined by those of the two mentors and that of the Keeper himself, a cacophony of sound that echoed back to the cages where others awaited their turn, every word clearly enunciated, "Blood for the Chalice, Flesh for the Banquet Table, Skulls for the Tower and the Throne! We pledge this offering to Kharnax! Hear our call and accept our Offering to you!"

The dagger hefted by the Keeper sported a fine thin blade and he rested the blade against her skin seconds before her stomach exploded in a fiery cataclysm of pain accompanied by a river of blood. Something shifts within her, and she can feel it, wrapped around her intestines as pain courses through her with every heave of her muscles, unable to stop the spasms, terror, pain and the utter horror. A hand enters her view, dripping with red ropes that steamed.

"Tie her." The slick red ropes of her guts encircle her limbs, at the ankles, the knees, waist, shoulders and wrists, with a measure of skill, as the length of intestines are still attached to her, unbroken even after they have been used to bind her, a gross parody of modern art as her own bodily fluids, blood and biles drip and draw trails down her skin.

"Brand her." The dagger descends again, and her flesh becomes an explosive sea of volcanic pain, as the symbol of Kharnax, the bloody skull over a chalice is cut in to the flesh of her thighs and chest directly over her heart.

The preparations upon the alter complete, the Warlocks lift her upright, mounting the icon in its bracket, jolting with the force of a hammer, and there is nothing but excruciating agony and blood. Her voice broken, left unable to scream and find some release from her agony. It is a long time to her, every second stretching on for an infinity, but she could feel it, coldness, a blessed numbing of the pain that had flayed her taut nerves raw. Infinity to her had only been twenty minutes in reality.

Her life was fading and she knew that it would be a matter of minutes before she lost consciousness and slipped in the darkness from which she would never wake, but it would be at least another half hour before she would be replaced with another. So many offerings in this camp alone, and there were almost certainly other such places spread throughout the despoiled land and thousands more would die before the demons of the Black Flame would be appeased. But it was no concern of hers anymore. She was dying, and she knew and accepted her fate. She opened her eyes one final time, to find the Dungeon Keeper, Keeper Firestorm staring up at her, a sick, twisted and blatantly sadistic smile creasing his features, as he noted she was still conscious, "You are the strongest so far Fairy, many others had either lost their sanity or let the darkness claim them."

She glared daggers at him, even as her mouth worked, trying desperately to bring sound through cracked lips and broken teeth. He was amused by her suffering, "Your sacrifice shall feed Kharnax well."

He turned and walked away, even as Drahuliska and Gazz wrestled a large barbarian warriors, his hands bound behind his back, chains shackling his ankles forcing him to shuffle instead of walk. They frog marched their offering towards their Keeper, who cast his critical eye over their specimen, "Bothers of the Black Flame, I come, and bear a new offering for our God."

And the cycle would continue until there are none left.

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