Chapter 22:
The Beginning of the End
I don't know how long it has been since I last saw a human face that I did not hack apart and leave as a bloody corpse. What I do think I know is that it has been approximately three weeks since Keeper Feral offered her blood and skull as a sacrifice to the Dark God of Warfare and Bloodshed, Kharnax. Admittedly, the past week has proven to be less than ideal for me and my warriors. Our arrival in this new land was prematurely interrupted, and I was nearly routed before I could muster sufficient reinforcements from the rest of my empire. If I could simply move my warriors from the others "lands" within my empire, crushing this pest would not prove to be so difficult. Ironically, I would be using the same tactic that my former opponent had attempted to use, and failed miserably at employing.
The Keeper in this land was aligned to a different Dark God. I think that the Dark Blue that enshrouded his warriors had marked that particular Keeper as a follower of the Arch-Mage of the Burning Legion, a Human who had ascended to the rank of God some thousand years ago: Jungald. His forces had been true masters of magic, and we had taken more than a half dozen of them captive. For the moment, however, I had no idea why I bothered to keep any of them alive. They had fallen with surprising ease, but as they were followers of Jungald, they had lacked any real melee ability. They collapsed like a house of cards before my assault.
Those poor unfortunate souls did not even have sufficient time to reinforce the walls of their Dungeon before my Imps had tunneled into their dungeon and also directly to their Heart Chamber. My own forces had obliterated the pest in hours, and I had not even been concerned with giving the rival Keeper a chance to duel me, as I have the Lord of the Land baying at my heels like a bloodthirsty wolf. I had no idea what to do with those magic users still rotting in my Prison. Sacrificing them would solve the problem, as would letting them stay in my prison. But that's a minor, left over kind of issue that I have to deal with at some point and I am in no rush to dispose of those captive bright minds.
The Lord of this particular land however is definitely in a league of his own. Thus far his forces had proven to be far superior to any others that I had encountered. His Dwarves were strong and extremely capable with both axe and shield. Furthermore, his damned rouges and thieves made effective use of the shadows, using them to strike at the vulnerable back and flanks of my warriors whenever we attempted to ambush them. My warriors had been encircled and in one case cut to shreds. In other scenarios, we had kept our losses to a minimum, and we have been slowly bleeding my enemy's forces down… but battlefield attrition would take a long time to have any significant impact upon the numbers or the morale of his forces.
His forces seem to be the kind that nobody wants to face, being both numerous and well trained warriors, as opposed to massed ranks of rabble that he can throw at me, unlike the former Keeper Feral from the Land of Lush-Meadow-on-Down. We had taken the liberty of renaming that particular place "Stomped-into-the-Ground," considering that is actually all that remained of the already despoiled place. Keeper Feral had turned the land above in a completely barren wasteland with nothing living beneath the murky sky above. Dead marshes still show more life than the remnants of Lush-Meadow-on-Down. I sighed, wishing that I had some of my higher intelligent minions with me.
The name is fitting as there is now an extremely large crater, twenty meters in diameter, and extremely deep, considering that the raw elemental nova burned directly through the ceiling of the cavern and opened up a passage way to the land above, which also revealed the skies where the three moons of this world hung. They had hung static since my arrival, unwavering and unshifting, as if they had been pinned in place. But they had shifted recently, the moon that had seemed to be closest to the ground, the Blood Moon that glared down, spilling its red blood-like glow across the landscape, also known as the Moon of Chaos, having faded away. Its presence was fickle, at times not being seen for months or, according to the histories, even years. And it is said that its appearance always heralds a time of strength and celebration for all the forces of Dark, regardless of which Dark God one would worship or have as patron. Its sudden disappearance, leaving the Moon of Light and the Moon of Balance in the night sky, the former to the East, and the latter to the West was said to be a warning of dangerous times ahead for those who had forsaken the light and served Darkness
I find it rather strange that even without another Keeper present in this land, that it is difficult to actually attract Demon Spawn. The supporting ranks of my army in this particular realm are far weaker than I would prefer them to be. Fortunately, it is not the result of something I have done, as my control over the actual physical geography of the underground is nonexistent. Instead of having a Lava River, along with its highly sulfurous fumes, what I have is a massive underground lake, large enough for an island to exist in the center of it. The water filled lake seems to be a significant negative factor when it comes to attracting Demon Spawn that all have a strong preference for hot, fiery lava.
On the far side of the lake are the remains of the Jungald follower's dungeon, along with the accursed gates that the heroes were using to enter the underground, and the sheer openness of the territory meant that ambushes were harder to carry out, almost every ambush had to take place in the maze of tunnels and traps that were ridiculously short, and it was almost simplistic to find one's way through. I had turned back, thus far, three scouting parties, the third having been successful in locating the entrance to the Maze that lead to my Dungeon. Even though they had not found their way through the maze, they had already found my Dungeon, and I don't have much time before he comes with his entire army at his back. Already, he has staged three unsuccessful raids against my Dungeon, but his third and final raid proved to be the one that came closest to success as they nearly took out my Master Researcher in exchange for more than half their number. If Drahuliska had fallen, I suppose you could say that it would have been a fair trade – fifteen enemy warriors for one of mine.
He had suffered greatly, but had survived just barely. Considering that the Fairies had targeted him specifically with three different forms of elemental magic had made it impossible to defend against all three simultaneously. The blasts of fire, bolts of lightning and spears of ice had hammered his frame, the ice having hit first, encasing him in a block of ice, seconds before the flames had struck, seconds behind the lightning bolts, causing the ice to melt in time to conduct the lightning bolts before it evaporated. Never have I seen any creature receive and survive such elemental abuse. He had nearly exploded from the inside out from the sheer elemental fury that had been forced into him – and the rents in his body had bled both blood and mana. Much to my annoyance, he is still in extremely poor shape. I've left him temporarily in charge of the administration of my empire as a whole while I lead the push upon this land with Gazz. I cannot deny that I like this dragon, as he has a vicious sense of humor that he used for his own personal amusement, but also to motivate researchers in the absence of Drahuliska's presence.
Research as a result, was much slower than it would have otherwise been. Don't get me wrong, but a Dragon does not inspire Warlocks in the same way that Warlocks can inspire their own. Drahuliska will rejoin us as soon as he is able, and he knows that the sooner he returns, the less likely it is that I will appoint a replacement. He was incapacitated at a less than opportune time as they were close to perfecting a spell that would allow me to hurl raw lightning as a weapon to stun and even kill if necessary. Its power cannot be understated as it has been employed to stun entire parties of raiding heroes. But at the moment, its somewhat time consuming to cast, draining and most annoyingly of all, rather difficult to aim. Perfecting the spell would negate the trio of flaws. The only drawback was the mana cost as it was more "expensive" than any other spell within my arsenal. Fortunately, I can use it several times in rapid succession, allowing me to stun and disable while my minions clean them out, and the lack of Demon Spawn forces me to use this spell to support my warriors in battle. If that injured Warlock of mine does not get back on his feet soon, it is definitely going to make supporting an assault all the more taxing.
It was sudden and unexpected when the Perimeter Alarms went off, those that were at the far end of the maze. I growled in aggravation, but I found myself gaining a healthy measure of respect for my opponent in this land. He has courage and he does not know when to quit. Three assaults, and we'd broken and turned him back on all three occasions, without him ever finding his way into the Dungeon proper. But this time, he was leading the pack of rabble himself. Now this works in my favor. He has come down here to face me and I am going to take him alive. For all the grief that he has caused me, I intend to ensure that he dies a long slow death. I'll keep him alive, in my prison, just barely alive so that when I get a Torture Chamber, I will have a "test case" to carry out a scientific experiment: How much torture can one man stand before he goes insane.
My warriors formed their lines, the Bile Demons at the forefront, with the Skeletons standing with their shields already raised upon one arm, spells at the ready on their other, as my few Warlocks and short staffed supporting warriors prepared their deadly barrages of spells. My lines were perilously thin in more than one area, and I had no intention of actually letting these weaknesses be discovered. They were coming close, if they took the right turn at the next set of crossroads in the maze… and they made the correct left turn. It was then that I spied him: my opponent, the Lord of the Land, leading the charge yet again. I would get my wish to face him in single combat for these overly patriotic light blinded fools cannot back down from any challenge. I took a special note of the sword he wielded, considering it gave of a deep shimmering glow that came from the heart of the blade. There were only fifteen of such blades in existence: Azure-Wrath Crystal Blade.
The Azure-Wrath is created through a mix of artifice and magic in a process that is similar to that which had created my own blade. Where their blades were crafted from blessed crystals and folded in steel and quenched in thrice blessed holy water, with the power to slay an Avatar of a Dark God or even a True Demon, mine is almost the exact opposite. I can't use weapons of light just because they don't feel comfortable, but there's that minor problem where the sheer holiness and purity of those weapons makes them hurt when they come in contact with my skin. That's what would happen if I were to hold a weapon of such purity. I don't intend to find out what happens if that blade were to pierce my flesh and strike the bone beneath.
From the Dungeon Heart, I unleashed the full power of the spells at my disposal. The defensive magic setup playing across my forces as they moved in position to greet this menace, as we had done before when they walked through the doorway that lead to my Dungeon. From the Dungeon Heart, I watched with a fair amount of amusement as The Lord of the Land and his warriors set off one trap after another, lightning arcing through the air around them, leaving many of them nursing burns and, in two separate cases, corpses as the armor strapped to a Dwarf and a Rouge overcharged, causing them to explode like overripe tomatoes, spraying their entrails across their fellows, and along the walls of the maze, giving my maze something of a lived in feeling. Interior design, I'll grant you, was never my strong suit and it never will be, in spite of the fact that I rule an empire that for sheer size rivals that of many modern day countries.
The wall formed by my warriors buckled under the furious assault as my foes threw themselves bodily upon the shields of my skeleton warriors in a do or die charge, while my Bile Demon's swatted a number of Dwarves desperate to break my lines into the ground. This is a fight that I had been looking forward to. Teleporting from the Dungeon Heart, I did not bother wasting any more of my time, my weapon ready, as I arrived directly in to the heart of the melee, to begin a dance of death against these bastards who dared to trespass upon the Keeper's domain.
The ravenous hunger within him erupted again; a red haze clouded his vision, as he surrendered himself to the Blood Rage. His demonic gunblade swung and the strength behind the blow cleaved through the neck of a single Dwarf before embedding itself in the torso of a neighboring thief with sword raised overhead in mid charge. He looked down at the blade that emerged from his side, his heart already cloven in two, an expression of surprise and confusion written upon his expression. The light in the man's eyes had yet to fade as Keeper Firestorm pulled back upon the double set trigger, blasting the remnants of the man off his blade, spraying chunks of gore with accompanying artillery like sprays of blood in an outward arc.
The Dark God Kharnax watched with undisguised interest as this Keeper sacrificed more and more heroes in his name. This Keeper possessed true strength and true belief in his cause. He gave himself completely to the rage, his free hand rising and unleashing a plethora of elemental fury. The lightning bolts streaked outward, crackling and sparking as they took on a slight blue tinge, supercharging the armor clad heroes and blasting them backwards. A massive volley of fire-coated spears emerging from the air around him as they carved down a pair of enemy Fairies, who had taken aim at him.
In the few seconds since the Keeper had erupted into battle, carving down the few opponents who had been closest to him, his warriors had charged forward, close enough so that it could be said that they fought, shoulder to shoulder with him, while remaining beyond the reach of him and his weapon. None of the heroes wanted anything to do with him, as they fell back before his advance, even as they slowed the momentum of his minions advance. He cut a bloody swath through any who dared to stand against him.
A seemingly invincible whirling juggernaut of swordplay and magic pushed forward, striking down foes just like the farmer's scythe would carve down wheat. None were spared. And his sudden fall surprised all, as he dropped to his knees suddenly, his blade clattering to the floor next to his feet. His face rippling with pain, as if something within his skin sought to break through. Even as it faded from his face, leaving him looking relatively normal, were it not for his eyes, their obsidian shade lightened only by the demonic hell fires that burned from within.
As if he was no longer in control of his own body his back arched as his bones seemed to break and reform, hardening until their sheer strength and solidity bordered upon indestructibility. Where other Keepers had tried, more than one had failed to rise above mediocrity, but Kharnax had made his decision and the Keeper of the Black Flame would be his Chosen to spread fire, blood and death, and to secure a base of power for Kharnax, once the Dungeon Keeper was sent home. Kharnax, the Dark God of War and Bloodshed bestowed his blessing upon Keeper Firestorm, making him something greater than human and keeper: A Demon Prince.
Kharnax grinned, revealing blade like teeth even as excruciating, mind numbing pain ripped through the body of his Chosen, as if Keeper Firestorm's nerves were being flayed with broken glass. His Chosen felt it growing with in him, as if another person was growing outward from his spine. The armor upon his back exploded as demonic wings emerged, releasing a shockwave of raw demonic energy that burned all it touched, searing flesh to dust and blackening the skeletal remnants of those who had stood too close irrespective of whether they were minions or foe.
From his lower back, skeletal appendages, like bone wings, erupted in a spray of black, bubbling blood as their sharpened serrated ends folded upwards. Both pair of wings retracted as he was granted full control of his demonic form, the scream of pain that had escaped his throat fading away. The mortal Keeper Firestorm of the Black Flame no longer existed, as flames licked at his feet. His heavy clawed hand wrapped around the handle of his weapon as he rose, taking two steps forward, leaving footprints outlined with burning flames upon the cold stone floor.
Two bat-like wings stood proud behind his shoulders, their points rising almost a full two feet over his head, just as well, for their wingspan would have been close to fifteen feet. Their skin was a rich dark color that seemed to shimmer and alternate between a deep burgundy red with gold flecking and an ash black and grey. The wings were heavily veined and muscled with inner bones. They were longer than a human thigh bone but far more slender and still harder than steel with sharp points that threatened to break through the sandpaper like surface.
The skeletal limbs that had erupted from his lower spine were not so much additional arms or legs. *The bones were much like those of his wings, but the sheer serration of their points made clear these were weapons that could lash out with the speed and destructive force.
He roared, and his warriors roared along with him, the combined crescendo cracking the stone in the ceiling and the floor below. He lashed out with his bladed weapon, felling a pair of Dwarves in a single swipe, before he ducked low and lashed out again, his blade clashing against that of a Thief for several brief seconds before he pulled back upon the trigger, the concussive force exploding down the length of his own weapon, shattering the Rouge, who stared dumbfounded for a moment while his legs fell to the floor, severed at the hip before one of the skeletal limbs lashed out, impaling him through the chest. A heavy armor clad foot rose and hovered over the skull of another Dwarf, maimed by the blast of power before the same foot crushed the skull to spray bone and grey matter across the floor in an explosive arc. The Demon Price of Kharnax roared yet again as he stomped forward, hacking, and slicing, even as a fiery barrage of spells hammered against his armor, tearing through the armor upon his right shoulder and arm leaving black scorches across his demonic skin.
The blood rage had him in its entirety, and he shrugged off what would have otherwise been a immolating barrage of magic, as his own left hand lanced out, sending a spray of hellfire from his palm in a burning arc. The heroes reacted with both skill and precision, closing ranks, shields played across the front ranks of their forces, deflecting his immolating blaze after which the heroes responded with their own barrage of arrows and spells. They did no more than tear open minor wounds that dripped blood for several short moments before beginning to heal upon the Demon Prince of Kharnax. The barrage was far more effective against the Demon Prince's army.
The barrage thinned their ranks with brutal effectiveness, leveling nearly half his forces. The warriors of the Demon Prince had neither the boon nor blessing to resist the barrage. They fell. The blood rage still upon him, he charged forward, the weapon he wielded coming down in a murderous swing that clashed against their magical barriers, and actually held the blade for an instant, before it clove through and slammed home. The flagstones crumbled and broke beneath the furious assault, as he roared two words in the language of the demons.
The resulting shockwave threw the warriors of light backwards, several cart wheeling through the air, as others were left dazed by the furious assault. The reinforced walls and ceiling within in the relatively narrow corridor crumbled, the magic bound in the earth and stone vaporized by the display of destructive fury. Not even his own warriors were spared, as the few closest to him were erased. Only a group of five, heavily armored, sword and shield bearing men stood against the assault, standing firm, as their blades rose and they roared a wordless challenge, and stormed forward, the Azure-Wrath amongst the five blades, making it clear that the Lord of the Land and his honor guard now challenged the Demon Prince of Kharnax.
Demon Prince Firestorm grinned savagely as the group of knights charged towards him. How he would enjoy this. The group split up, seeking to attack him from three sides at once. Five opponents against himself made it a fair fight, for only the Azure-Wrath Crystal blade could truly harm him. He would have to be wary of that one. They closed and lashed out collectively as one, five blades flashing towards him from five different angles. For a monstrosity of his size, he demonstrated near unmatched agility, as he spun low, causing their blades to intercept in the space where he once stood, even as he reversed his grip upon his gunblade and drove it in to the chest of one of his attackers. The momentum of his attack coupled with the human's own momentum was more than sufficient to drive the blade, shatter the armor plates he wore and impale the little man. Blood spurted and trickled down the side of its mouth as one of the skeletal appendages of the Demon Price hacked into one of his remaining foes, ripping plate armor open even while the toxins, more akin to acid, began to corrode and burn the metal they touched and scour the flesh clean from the bones beneath.
Launching himself upwards from his crouch, he tore his blade and skeletal appendages from the corpses of the trio and he spread his wings, taking flight, beating them back and forth as he took aim and launched himself downwards with the speed of a hunting falcon, weapon raised as the Lord of the Land, leaped up to meet him, the Azure-Wrath Crystal blade glowing brightly as the Lord of the Land had channeled his faith in the weapon to create something that could truly kill a Demon Prince. The meeting of the two blades was louder than the crash of the gates of hell as the two spun, nearly out of control, their eyes locked even as they both held their blades one handed and began pummeling each other with their one free fist. The Demon Prince slammed back first in the wall, his wings still spread out behind him, the earth crumbling beneath close to a ton of demonic muscle and sinew. But the bones of a demon are not like that of man, the impact merely jarring him, and they continued to rain blows upon each other, neither man nor demon willing to give a solitary inch.
7