My great thanks to TodaBruh, who kindly chose to use some of his free time to be my beta reader!
Glyu-Uno, homeworld of the Dragon species, City of Warden's Keep.
Neltharion, leader of the Black Dragonflight, stood grimly in the war room of his palace, looking at the holographic map on display.
Everyone else in the room had already been confirmed clean of corruption (and, if necessary, purified free of any taint) by both the Symbol of power of his new god, and-
"That's a lot of red… Fear not, we shall triumph despite the odds!"
-her help.
Al Azif, the spirit of the Necronomicon. The helper that his god created and then assigned to him.
A part of him wondered if it was a show of trust… or distrust instead. A sword pointed as much at the neck of his enemies as it was at his own.
But then again, he didn't see any reason for it. If the Lord of the Eldritch wanted him dead, well, he would be dead right now.
The seemingly young woman looked at the hologram with brilliant green eyes under long pink-purple hair, her expression firm if still naturally proud.
They had not been working together long, but that look of pride on her face was already startlingly familiar.
And to be fair, considering she quite literally took one step in his palace, started complaining about the Abyssal taint in it, and waved a hand that pulsed with power that successfully purged the entire palace (and the grounds around it) of all taint in a single instant…
Well, some pride was well-earned.
"We have many enemies amongst us, yes." Neltharion grimly agreed, staring at the hologram of his capital city of Warden's Keep with a very displeased look on his face.
The second thing that Al Azif did once in the war room was linking herself to the (purified) magical wards over the entire fortress city of his people, and then used it to map accurately all sources of Abyssal taint (and thus demons or cultists) in the city by using her own powers and abilities.
The sudden waves of red flashing on the hologram had been incredibly enraging… and concerning.
"But we cannot, will not, give in to despair. We know where our enemies are. We know where they hide. We know their bases, their hidden enclaves." Neltharion smiled with grim satisfaction, as he watched waves of green forces move into position across the map. "Thank you again, Al Azif. Your aid is already going to make this war infinitely easier."
"But of course, what else did you expect? Hmmph!" Al Azif crossed her arms with a look of superiority, before grinning. "But by all means, praise me more."
Neltharion allowed himself a chuckle at her antics, before his eyes narrowed.
"Father. We are ready." said Nefarian, his oldest child.
Neltharion glanced at him. "The demons really didn't notice anything?"
Nefarian shrugged. "Most of them seem to still be squabbling amongst themselves about what to do. Of course, that won't last once we make our move."
Neltharion nodded grimly. Certainly, the demons, for all their occasional stupidity and arrogance, would not react kindly to being attacked across the entire city.
For a moment, his face softened. "What about Sintharia and your siblings?"
"They are ready to take revenge, father." his oldest son said firmly… though not before sending a look at Al Azif, who purified his family from all Abyssal taint.
Those of his children who had followed him to see Alexstrasza and the others had been cleansed by his new god alongside him, but those who had remained here had to be purified by Al Azif, instead.
To her credit, the young-looking woman had done it with spectacular skill… and an equal amount of pride.
But considering that she had saved the very souls of his consort and several of his children, well, Neltharion really didn't mind her pride right now.
"Very well then."
Neltharion looked back at the hologram.
Armies were ready to go to war. Canon batteries were armed and ready. The wards and energy shields would be activated the moment he gave the go-ahead.
Not everything was perfect, of course. Many positions, too many for his liking, were firmly under enemy hands. Quite simply, there were limits on what they could accomplish covertly without alerting the demons of what was coming.
Still, they had done all they could. Now… Now there would be war, and the future of his species would be determined, once and for all.
Neltharion clenched his fists, feeling the raw power from the blessing of his new god course through his veins. His mind was clearer than ever, making connections and coming to conclusions faster than ever before.
Raw power burned in his heart, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice.
His forces had all been marked with the Symbol of Lord Aeon, and many souls had been purified simply from that simple act.
They were ready, as ready as they could ever be.
He glanced at Al Azif, her green eyes glancing up at him with anticipation, determination, and a lot more behind that.
He was ready.
Today… Today, he would make things right, and ensure that never again would he almost lead his people to damnation.
"To all units." he declared, his voice echoing across the city of dozens of millions to all of his loyal soldiers. "Begin the attack!"
There was, for a single moment that seemed to echo across eternity, a deep silence that spoke of the eye of the storm.
And then the countless guns of his city fired, and even if the Abyss happened to lose against the righteous souls this day-
Here and now, the Hell of warfare descended upon all equally.
Corporal Sitch looked around with grim anticipation.
He and his unit, along with many others, had been briefed on the situation, which could best be described as "FUBAR: Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition."
Demons had secretly infiltrated the city, almost succeeded in corrupting lord Neltharion and his family, and were even now poised to take over the entire city in one fell swoop if they weren't fought and killed down to the last.
Oh, and the other dragonflights were all equally almost fucked over in some ways, too.
If, that is, literal divine fucking intervention didn't fuck over the demons' plans.
Corporal Sitch looked down at the symbol dangling from a thread over his armor, the symbol of the new patron god of his people.
The gods, except for Lady Azathoth herself and a select few others, weren't truly worshiped and respected by the people aligned with the dragonflights. Hard not to hold the gods in contempt when it was the sheer devastation of the Eldritch war on this world that caused his ancestors, along with so many others, to seek escape with the dragons in order to try and flee the war.
So yes, temples to Azathoth, the goddess who ended the war, were normal, but few other gods were venerated, much less worshiped, amongst the dragonflights.
That was especially true for those affiliated with the Black dragonflight. Having to fight for years upon years against demons, with almost every god in existence seemingly uncaring of their plights, really didn't help engender warm and fuzzy feelings for the gods.
Of course, then the new Lord of the Eldritch saved Lord Neltharion and countless others, revealed plots that could have damned them all, and much more besides, and suddenly things were… a lot more complicated.
Having his symbol pressed against someone literally causing traitors to burn to ash, and the corrupted to be saved, helped a lot too.
Sitch's own niece owed her life and soul to that fucking symbol, and he was never going to forget the way she screamed as it was pressed against her chest, the way her voice almost turned demonic for a second…
Before the Abyssal corruption was purged and she broke down sobbing in relief in the arms of his sister and her husband, muttering frantically to herself that the whispers were gone.
Needless to say, with that story repeating across the entire city, there were a lot of believers gained in what few hours they had before they had to be mobilized to fight against the demons.
He looked around, seeing the equally grim faces of his fellow soldiers in the blood-soaked bunker they were in. This place had been taken over by cultists, and he and his unit had been sent here to take it back before the full assault began.
Sitch wasn't sure whether he should be glad they found the cultists bastards with their literal pants down as they raped an helpless woman they had kidnapped, or enraged that they had used this bunker to have their fun with a lot more than just one woman in the past.
At least none of the fuckers were still alive. He and his unit made damned sure of that.
And with some hope, the poor girl might even recover… eventually.
By his side, Zalthis, the heavy weapon specialist of the squad, held his gatling gun at the ready, grim-faced. Veteran of many battles against demons and cultists, the man knew that the coming battle would be horrific and hard-fought. The marksman of the team, S'hmit, was checking his sniper rifle, carefully making sure it was still in full working condition. He was pretty new to the team, but had integrated well enough so far, and seemed as determined as the rest of them to do his duty. Sitch knew that he had a picture of his family in one of the pockets at his waist, and there was no doubting the pride and love on the man's face whenever he showed it off to them. The cleric, Thsek, was reading a prayer book, the snake-like being hissing under his breath as he mentally prepared himself for fighting the spawns of the Abyss. The Cleric's family owed their lives to a passing war-priest of Azathoth who killed a group of demons that were on the verge of slaughtering his family, and ever since the Cleric's faith had shone ever brighter than before, his sermons carrying the strength of a true believer speaking from his heart. The two mages, one man called Acratus and one woman called Tahiri, had their eyes closed as they meditated before the coming battle. With two decades of experience fighting off the Abyss and its spawns all across the lands held by the various dragonflights, they were more like hardened soldiers than your standard mages, and Acratus' massive scar across his face, going down to his neck, along with his right artificial eye, combined with Tahiri's artificial right arm, openly showed the wounds he accumulated during those long years of battles. His sergeant, a fierce black-haired, blue-eyed woman with a long scar across her face called Lawdug, was looking out towards the bunker's door with grim anticipation. She had a family of her own, with all of her children in the military or destined to be, and he could see the anxiety and fear in her eyes for them as she kept shifting in place, unable to quite contain her own worries.
His radio crackled to life, and he stiffened, tightened his grasp on his rifle, the other in his unit doing the same, though the cleric also began muttering prayer to lady Azathoth, and the two mages tightened their grip on their staffs, instead.
"To all units," came the strong, firm voice of Lord Neltharion. "Begin the attack!"
Finally, he thought with grim satisfaction.
"You heard our lord! Forward! For the Black Dragonflight! Death to the Abyss!" screamed his sergeant, taking her sword in her right hand while holding up a gun in her other hand.
"""Death to the Abyss!""" screamed the entire squad as one, before they rushed out of the bunker to charge towards their next objective.
"Yyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"
KA-BOOOOOM!*
KA-BOOOOOM!*
KA-BOOOOOM!*
"Charge!"
"For the dragonflight!"
"Death to the Abyss!"
Corporal Sitch grimaced at the sounds filling his ears even through his helmet as thousands, probably dozens of thousands of thousands of soldiers carefully hidden through magic and technology suddenly screamed as one as they all came out of hiding across this entire city district.
In the distance, artillery opened fire on known hotspots of demonic activity, entire buildings disintegrating in massive balls of fire mere seconds later.
And a moment later… the enemy, while shocked, quickly replied.
"Rrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaggggghhhhhhhhh!"
"Death to mortals!"
"Glory to the Abyss!"
"Make them scream! Make them suffer! Make them beg!"
"I will feast upon your souls!"
Demonic screechs of rage and hatred echoed along with the shouts of cultists and demons alike, once it became clear that this was an all-out attack.
Quasits took to the skies by the hundreds, coming out of many buildings as their dark greens wings easily carried them up above the battlefield. Following closely behind were Vrocks, the avians-headed Demons of wrath screeching in bloodthirsty fury as they sought out to murder and feast on the fools who dared attack them.
On the ground, hundreds of Dretchs, the Sloths demons, came out of the same buildings and secret entrances, wearing little more than rags for clothings and holding low-quality guns and blades. Nonetheless, their eyes shone with the same cruelty inherent in all demons, as eager to shed blood as all other of their kinds.
Next came Brimoraks, the goat-headed demons with glowing red eyes, armed with flaming swords and flamethrowers. As eager as ever to see mortal worlds burned to the ground by Abyssal flames, they eagerly charged forward with only one goal: to burn everything on their paths, whether unlucky demons or mortals mattered not for them.
Corporal Sitch reminded himself to keep an eye out for Babau, the assassins of Demon-kind. The Blood demons, characteristic with their blood-red skins, were always a danger for the people of the city, as they were masters of stealth despite their appearances and had caused countless deaths by assassinations and sabotage in the past. Those damn cannibals were extremely dangerous, especially because they were shockingly patients for demons.
The next to take to the skies, though they also fought on the ground, were succubus. Dozens of them kept pouring out of their secret dwellings, screeching and cackling cruelly as they shouted taunts and mocking threats to the mortals facing them, using their voices to also try to lull defenders into dropping their guards.
Well, Corporal Sitch thought with grim satisfaction, let's see them try with the divine symbol protecting our minds!
More demons flew into the skies, the ever-gluttonous Nabasus demons eager to feast on mortal flesh joining the unholy chorus of demonic screams and screeches.
On the ground, Sitch's expression darkened as he saw Glabrezu demons, the Treachery demons of the Abyss particularly hated for their plots which caused horrific betrayal amongst the ranks of those affiliated with the Dragonflights. Masterminds of evil plots by nature, those bastards were priority targets to kill whenever encountered.
And then, last but not least, deep behind the demonic lines, his helmet's view zooming in to see her, a single Marilith demon, one of the demons of Pride, generals of the Abyss, half-snake, half-humanoid in form, which could faintly be seen barking orders and waving her six arms angrily, each of them armed with a different weapon.
All of that, naturally, backed up by legions upon legions of screaming, frothing at the mouth demonic cultists, eager to kill and desecrate everything holy in the names of their dark patrons. Armed with guns, blades, and more, many of which glowed with unholy light and twisted runes, while their armors shone with red, glowing symbols of the demon lords or dark gods they believed in.
"Forward, for the Dragonflight!" screamed his sergeant.
In an instant, the beautiful city turned into a horrific battlefield. Warden's Keep was separated in two parts: the topside part, and the one going deep underground. Right now, his squad was near the primary entrance to the underground part of the city, and as a result the demons were more numerous here in this district than elsewhere, as they had no doubt hoped to cut off both sides of the city once they were ready to make their move.
The district was pretty rich as a result of the entrance to the underground, as the sheer wealth from all the minerals coming from underground flowed out topside here, most of all.
And yet, at this moment, none of that wealth mattered. Beautiful buildings exploded into giant fireballs, or outright collapsed into shattered pieces. Artillery fired from both sides, mortar teams quickly setting up and releasing their deadly payloads upon unfortunate mortals and demons alike. Restaurants, hotels, houses, shops and more… all of it suddenly burned in the fires of a war for the very survival of the lives and souls of the city's inhabitants.
The Corporal grimaced as he saw civilians try to run, only to be mercilessly cut down by cackling cultists and demons. Mothers screamed in anguish as children were turned into fine red mists, and children stared in stunned incomprehension at the corpses of their parents, some of them even still holding the cut off limbs of those who paid for their lives to protect them.
With the demons already in the city, there simply wasn't time to evacuate civilians, and priority had thus been given to secure strategic hardpoints that could be feasibly secured without alerting their unholy foe of the coming danger.
The cost of that decision could now be seen, as entire families whose only crime was to be at the wrong place at the wrong time died screaming, all under the thunderous explosions of artillery, the cackling of demons and cultists alike, and the screams of rage of the defenders charging forwards, trying their best to both kill the enemy and protect those they could.
In the skies, the dark forms of many black dragons could be seen, roaring in rage and defiance against the unholy foe within their very home, aerial battles between dragons and flying demons quickly starting, broken corpses falling from high in the skies upon the ground below showing the sheer brutality of the fighting taking place above.
Corporal Sitch, caught in the middle of this deadly madness, fired his rifle over and over again, running and taking cover behind everything he could while returning fire whistled close to his armored form. One moment he was taking potshots at the enemy behind a burning vehicle, the next he knelt behind the rubble of a shattered wall, and the next he was hiding behind the corner of the open door of a shop selling children's toys.
He tried not to focus on the bloodstains and corpses within that shop. Some of the bodies… They were dreadfully young.
With some luck and the power of the gods, clerics might be able to bring back some of the recently dead. Maybe. If the bodies weren't too damaged, if the demonic corruption in those bodies weren't too strong, if, if…
"We have to keep moving!" screamed his sergeant. "Push them out of the main street, the entrance to the underground must not fall!"
Sitch eyed the skies, seeing the anti-air batteries fire constantly at the flying demons, who returned fire with magic, explosions battering the ground as screams of agony, terror and horror echoed all around.
"Enemy tanks incoming!" screamed someone furthered up the street, just before a horrific *KA-BOOOOOOM!* sound shook the street, cut off screams heralding more death as the tanks fired.
"Fuck!" cursed his sergeant, before her right hand went to her helmet. "Command, this is Sergeant Thule, we have enemy tanks coming down the street!"
She quickly rattled a series a number not long after, before bringing her helmet's speaker to the max.
"Incoming heavy artillery! Take covvvvvvvvver!" she screamed at the top of her lungs for the sake of everyone around her, even as she did the same across the comms system.
Curses echoed around him as Sitch ducked and knelt, putting his hands above his helmet. For a second, nothing happened, and then he began hearing a very distinct whistling sound coming from above-
KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*
The entire building he was in convulsed violently, part of it crumbling under the sheer force of the explosion echoing in the distance. Demonic screeches and cultists squealing in terror and then agony filled his ears, along with the steady booming sounds of explosions taking place, over and over again.
Corporal Sitch didn't dare move a muscle, even as he felt part of the building collapse a single meter away from him, a cut-off scream indicating someone had just been buried alive.
For what felt like forever, the convulsions of the building continued, even as the sounds of explosions kept going in the distance, the sound so loud that even with the helmet filtering the sound, it was still deafening.
And then, finally, blessed silence. The ground stopped shaking, the building stopped convulsing, and the ensuing silence was almost as deafening as the explosions had been.
Slowly, almost not believing that he wasn't harmed, Corporal Sitch dare to move again, blinking as he looked around-
Only to stop at the massive pile of rubble less than a meter from him, a puddle of blood spreading out from underneath it.
"Sound off! Who's still alive?!" shouted his sergeant.
A quick roll call confirmed that their sniper was dead, as it was most likely his body under the rubble.
The mages quickly pushed the rubble out of the way, but a single look at what was underneath made it clear to all that no miracle would happen for the guy. There was a limit to what their cleric could do, and bringing back someone who was more puree than sentient being.
Sitch grimaced. The guy hadn't been there for too long, merely four months, but he'd been friendly enough, and had a family he loved dearly.
And now, he was very, very dead.
"Leave him." his sergeant said softly. "His soul is in the gods' hands, now."
Without another word, they all turned and left the building, before they all stiffened at the sight awaiting them. The bombardement did its job, as the tanks were gone, shattered and burning pieces of metals all that was left of them… amongst a view straight out of Hell.
Their sight was almost obstructed by all the dust kicked up by the bombardement, but it still did nothing to hide the giant, still burning craters covering the ground for what had to be a few hundreds meters of ground, nor did it hid the countless broken corpses spilling their lifeblood everywhere. Some of the cultists and demons were still alive, having been "lucky" enough to be merely grievously wounded instead of killed.
Here, a cultist woman not much older than Sitch's niece was desperately trying to get her guts back in her body, muttering desperate prayers to her demon lord. There, a demon was crawling forward with one arm, missing both legs and his remaining arm entirely. With a last exhale, the demon suddenly stopped, his face forever frozen in a rictus of horror.
Of the once beautiful buildings, roads and signs of civilization, little remained. Shattered walls and broken pieces of roads could still be seen here and there amongst the flames and blood, but little else was left.
"Forward." ordered his sergeant after a moment. "Check for any survivors. Execute them."
And with that said, she stepped up to the young female cultist weakly grasping her guts, put her gun in front of her face and blew her brains off.
Shaking himself out of his shock, Corporal Sitch moved forward, followed by his remaining squadmates.
Any hesitation he might have felt at following orders were wiped out by the nearby sight of the corpse of a young civilian girl surrounded by dead demons, their mouths still dripping red with her flesh and blood.
"For the Dragonflight." he muttered, thinking of his niece, and began to search for survivors.
The sounds of gunfire echoed not long after.
"Glory to Azathoth! Glory to the Dragonflight! Charge!"
"DEATH TO THE ABYSS!"
Warrior-priest Gazghull grinned grimly, the tentacles coming out of his face shaking at every step he took while running towards the hordes of cultists and demons before him and the men at his back.
A book of prayer in one hand, a mace bristling with spikes in the other, he ran towards those forever-damned demons of the accursed Abyss with faith in his two hearts.
At his right, a warrior screamed in fury, a greatsword held high in his four hands.
At his left, a mage casted a fireball, the woman blowing off several demons in the distance to burnt ashes.
All around him, men, women and other, stranger lifeforms charged forward, determined to push the enemy back, back to the Abyss they came from.
"And lo, did the Great Dreamer slept!" screamed the priest, spittle coming out of his mouth at every word he shouted at the top of his lungs. At his back, an explosion echoed along with the screams of the dying, but he did not falter. Bullets and lasers whistled past him, grunts of pain and bodies collapsing, but he did not falter. They had to push through!
"And lo, in her almighty power, did she dream of a great Creation, full of countless wonders!" he kept screaming, even as the man by his right collapsed, his head disappearing into a fine red mist by a spell that went on to kill five more soldiers.
"And lo, did the Great Dreamer beheld her work, and fell in love with all that she had wrought!" he kept shouting, raising his mace high, ready to slaughter the enemies before him. At his left side, the mage squealed in agony as a bullet broke through her barrier, the dark rune upon it making her scream in agony and collapse on the ground convulsing… only to be trampled to death by the charging line of soldiers at her back.
"But you, demons, are not created from her love! Born from sin, a blight upon her Dream, curse the fools who created your accursed kind! Death! Death to the Abyss!" he shrieked with holy fury in his soul as he finally approached the enemy line.
"DEATH TO THE ABYSS!" his war-cry was echoed by all the soldiers at his back.
Gazghull jumped high, then brought down his mace with a wordless cry of rage, smashing a cultist' head, and much of his upper body, to a bloody pulp.
Around him, the rest of his brothers and sisters in faith fell upon the demons with holy wrath, the enemy line collapsing into a giant melee as demons fought soldiers, and cultists fought loyalists.
Slamming his mace into the side of a Brimorak, the goat-headed demon squealed in pain, at least before Gazghull slammed his holy book upon the skull of the abomination before him. The book, large and heavy and bound in such a way that it was almost bullet-proof, shattered the demon's skull in a shover of gore.
"For Azathoth!" he shouted, already turning towards his next victim. "Let none survive!" he screamed, before deflecting a cultist's sword aimed at his throat and kicking the man's right leg out, making him stumble… which was all the opening he needed to claim his third kill of the assault.
Looking around, he noticed a succubus about to cast a spell, and pointed at her with his bloodied mace.
"The Great Dreamer is the Queen of Creation!" he screamed, calling upon the Divine might of his goddess. "All that is foul in her sight does not deserve to exist!"
Reality shattered, the succubus looking horrified for a second-
Before she ceased to exist, erased from existence so thoroughly that the priest didn't even remember who he had sought to kill.
Turning, he focused on the next cultist, the next demon, killing more over and over again.
"Glory to her on her Black Throne!" he screamed, raising his mace high, a black light emanating from him before spreading to all present, removing fatigue and giving back strength and even healing minor wounds. "Death to the Abyss!"
"They're breaking!" screamed someone with satisfaction, and Gazghull grinned as he saw the same. The cost has been high, but the enemy was indeed finally breaking and running away from this position.
"Hold your ground!" he shouted. "Secure the area! Slaughter all cultists and demons who do not run! Glory to the Gods! Glory to the Dragonflight!"
"GLORY!" screamed dozens, perhaps hundreds of voices as the demons broke and ran from the furious assault of the loyalists.
Gazghull stared at the retreating enemy with satisfaction, proud of yet another fight won in his Lady's name-
A shadow shifted at the corner of his eye, and he turned, raising his mace-
But he never finished the move. A spear slammed into his body, breaking through his armor and piercing through his organs with ease.
He coughed blood, glaring even as he felt his strength fading into the eyes of the cruelly grinning Babau demon who had hidden himself until now.
Knowing he was dying, and feeling the poison coating the spear spread through his body like molten lava, the priest felt shame for failing his Lady through the growing agony consuming his mind… but swore he would not let another die for his failure.
The Babau demon tried to take his spear out and retreat before the soldiers around them had time to recover from their shock, but Gazghull let go of his mace and took a firm hold of the spear in his torso, his eyes never leaving the burning red orbs of the demon.
With his other hand, he reached out to the demon's neck, and squeezed.
The demon struggled, choking to death, his claws scraping against his arm for several seconds, before flashing across his face.
"Aaaaarrrrgghhh!"
The priest screamed in agony as one of those claws found his right eye, but the pain gave him strength, and a dull *crack* sound echoed as the demon's neck snapped.
Feeling his strength finally failing, the priest collapsed on the ground, the demon's corpse falling on top of him.
Distantly, he heard the soldiers finally started shouting and reacting, though he knew it was too late for him.
Babau demons coated their weapons with a special poison that prevented clerics from raising the dead back to life. It wasn't perfect, but most likely he would not be brought back.
Staring into the smoke-choked sky above as shouting and distant explosions echoed in his mind, Gazghull smiled through bloody teeth, satisfied that his killer would not harm anyone else.
"Glory…" he coughed through mouthfuls of blood. "To…" he exhaled. "Azathoth."
His vision turned dark, and he died, a flash of a crystalline entity at the corner of his eye appearing before his soul was safely guided through the River of Souls to Pharasma's Court.
Sintharia, Consort of Neltharion, the leader of the Black Dragonflight, flew in the sky, burning down a dozen flying demons in a single burst of flame from her maw.
Around her, the battle for the skies of Warden's Keep raged on, bodies falling down on the ground far below at seemingly every second. The natural toughness of the dragons made them harder to kill, but sadly these demons had spent many years fighting them. They were experienced, hardened veterans, and it showed.
For all their strength and magic, dragons died around her, each loss like a stab wound to her heart. After so long spent fighting, after all the sacrifices made, for the enemy to have so thoroughly made it inside their city in such numbers, without them knowing…
That demons were present was known, but not so many.
The very skies were black with the wings of the unholy hordes, the flashes of light from dragons spewing fire also mixed with anti-air gun batteries from both sides firing.
With dragons being what they were, and many demons being able to fly, anti air guns and military technology had naturally evolved, and even now Sintharia was using magic to defend herself from missiles covered in unholy runes, trying desperately to lock on to her form.
They failed, but the occasional explosion and roars of agony from dragons around her told her that not all unholy missiles sent against her people did.
Her reptilian eyes scanned the battlefield, inwardly marveling over how clear her mind was. When Neltharion had returned, the pink-haired humanoid representation of the Necronomicon herself in tow, they had to subdue her in order to cleanse her body, mind and soul of corruption. Thankfully, it had not sunk too deep, and she had had enough of her mind left to try and keep herself in check as much as possible, but even so…
Well. She wasn't going to underestimate the young girl after a spell from her had slammed Sintharia to the ground and forced her to stay there until the ritual of purification had been completed.
She instinctively shuddered, remembering her own screams of demonic rage caused by the corruption as she had tried to free herself and devour the pink-haired insect who had the arrogance to make her kneel-
She mentally shook her head. She, Neltharion, and their entire family owed Al Azif for freeing them of all Abyssal corruption. She could afford to break down over how close to eternal damnation they all had been later, after the battle was won.
For now, her eyes focused back on the battle around her.
Snatching up a nearby succubus out of the skies and devouring her in a few seconds, her mind raced as she took in the aerial battlefield. Everything was utter chaos, as hordes of Quasits worked together to overwhelm dragons, succubus cackled as they tried to bleed dry her kin, and the Nabasus demons tried to feast on the flesh of dragons as often as dragons sought to burn or devour them.
The occasional aircrafts could be seen plunging in and out of the chaotic melee, trying to bring their guns to bear on the hordes of demons. Plasma guns spat burning deaths on countless, missiles exploded against the most dangerous demons of the lot, and more besides, but it wasn't without cost, as more and more burning wrecks falling from the skies could attest to.
Any of the mortals who tried to jump out of burning aircrafts and fall safely to the ground though anti-gravity suits were quickly picked apart, the bloody chunks of meat not eaten by demons falling down to add more blood and gore on the battlefields below.
To Sintharia's eyes, the entire city seemed to be on fire, vast smoking trails rising from the city even as more and more explosions seemed to blossom on the ground. Entire streets had already been turned to rubble, and more disintegrated as magic and artillery fought for domination, while tanks spat death and infantry on both sides tore into each other in vast orgies of blood.
Her eyes could even see the Cathedral and churches dedicated to the Gods burning as priests chanted war prayers, holding holy symbols in one limb and weapons in the other(s) as they fought viciously against cultists and demons alike. The great stone statue above the greatest cathedral of Warden's Keep, representing Azathoth herself, had a chunk of it blasted out at some point in the battle, and much of the great Cathedral's walls were pockmarked by blown up walls and stained glass windows.
And yet, it wasn't to say the enemy did not pay the price for their blasphemy. Unnatural howls echoed to her ears as the Hounds of Tindalos hunted demonic preys across the city, their forms barely seen before disappearing again… but the sheer carnage they left behind their wake was unmissable.
The rare Shoggoths who made pacts with the magic users associated with the Black Dragonflight unleashed chaos in the enemy ranks, using their abilities to spy and assassinate demonic commanders and cultists. A war in the shadows was raging as Eldritch monsters fought against Babau demons, every shadow and hidden alcoves on the battlefield turning into deadly traps.
Sintharia's sharp eyes saw a Balor, a Fire Demon, a towering monstrosity armed with a flaming whip and a sword, who acted as the direct subordinates to many demon lords, charge through one of the district of the city, cackling in glee and bellowing orders in equal measure as he slaughtered his way through all opposition.
With a growl, she plunged down below, avoiding anti-air gun batteries and unholy missiles, and casually slaughtering dozens of lesser demons standing in her path. The Balor had sharp instincts however, and managed to mostly avoid the sea of flames she spat upon him and the street he was in, though those around and behind him were not so lucky, dozens of demons and cultists dying in seconds as the heat of her flames made their very flesh melt.
Coming to a stop on the ground, her reptilian eyes narrowed as she looked at the Balor, who looked at her with cruel delight.
"Sintharia…" he growled, a black tongue licking teeth as long as a mortal's arm. "Your soul will see me richly rewarded in the Abyss. I'm glad to see you uncorrupted, it will make it all the better when I claim your soul!"
He laughed. "And then… maybe I'll claim your children's souls, next." he purred darkly, as if relishing the very idea.
Rage flaring in her soul, and Sintharia hissed in hatred. "They will not fear you, as I will slaughter you here and now!" she snarled, before lunging forward, her maw extended as she tried to bite off his neck.
The balor snarled back, his flaming whip flashing with deadly speed and accuracy, followed by his sword.
She barely avoided the first, yet her speed was great enough that she was able to bite off a chunk of his left shoulder while letting his sword whistle a centimeter away from her own neck.
The Balor bellowed in pain and rage, Sintharia not being fast enough to fully avoid the whip again as she retreated, and she hissed in pain as a long burn mark now stood on her draconic face. The foul taste of the Balor flesh and blood on her tongue did help block out the pain with sheer satisfaction, however, as first blood definitely was hers.
The Balor growled, rolling his shoulders and more carefully moving his wounded left arm, while Sintharia hissed softly as she pushed healing magic into her wound, though she knew it wouldn't heal any time soon. A weapon like the one the Balor had would not so easily be overcome.
"Your people are doomed, fool." snarled the Balor. "That accursed King of the Eldritch might have saved your souls, but it's too late! Our armies are mighty, and we've been preparing to take over for months now! The Abyss will have its due, and instead of serving willingly, your soul will scream alongside those of your family in the depths of the Abyss for our amusement!"
"We will never fall to the likes of you!" she hissed back. "We are the Black Dragonflight! Protectors of our kind! We stood strong in the Eldritch War! We stood strong in the past against your armies! We will stand strong once again, and as many times as it takes, spawn of the Abyss!"
The Balor sneered. "And yet, only divine intervention saved you from corruption. You are nothing but weak, blind fools! And now, the Abyss will reign supreme, and no one, not even that accursed husband of yours or his new god will save you!"
They both charged, rage in their eyes, and the city shuddered at every blow exchanged, while around them countless mortals and demons alike fought and died, hate burning bright in their souls.
"Incoming artillery!" the scream echoed, bringing fear in the hearts of all.
"Take cover! Take cover!" screamed the captain in charge of the section of this trench line, the man waving his four yellow furred arms wildly.
Gruk did as ordered, though he was moving the moment the first scream echoed.
Trying to make himself as small as possible, which wasn't hard when he was only 1m30, his small size a curse his species had to live with when so many others species tended to be much bigger (to say nothing of the dragons), he for once found his size a blessing, as everyone ducked for cover and began praying or cursing to themselves.
A few mages tried to create defensive barriers, but unholy artillery shells were nothing to scoff at, and whether the barrier would hold or shatter was known only to the gods.
The distinctive whistling echoed up above, and Gruk tried to make himself smaller still, knowing what was coming-
KA-BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!* *BOOM!*
"Arrrrrgh!"
"My arm! My arm!
"My legs… I can't find my legs!"
"Healers! We need healers!"
Gruk shuddered along with the world as shell after shell fell around him, screams of agony and death echoing around him for those unlucky enough to be hit by the ensuing explosions.
"Raaaaaaaaaagh!"
"Death to mortals!"
"Glory to the Abyss!"
"Weapons at the ready!" screamed the captain. "They're coming! Stand up and ready your weapons! Open fire at my order!"
Gruk scrambled up, using the box he was standing on to see above the trench they were all taking cover in.
Up above, the "sky" of the undercity could be seen, countless glowing crystals on the ceiling far above providing light for the entire city, magic dimming their glow at "night" to let everyone sleep in peace.
Despite the fact that the battle had started many hours ago and that "night" should have fallen by now, the crystals still glowed, as the leaders of the undercity had all agreed that now was definitely not the time to plunge the undercity into darkness.
… Well, the leaders that were both still alive and uncorrupted, at least.
Which, sadly, was only half their original numbers by the latest estimate, once all the traitors had been accounted for, and a series of assassinations by Babau demons took out several loyalists.
At least the primary government building of the undercity remained under loyalist hands, even if the entire west wing of the building was still burning, a dozen hours after battle had broken out in it.
The entire undercity was in chaos, as loyalist forces and demonic ones clashed across seemingly every street of the city at one point or another. Secrets passages were used liberally by both sides, ensuring that nowhere was truly safe. Even now, after a long day of constant fighting, and something that was beginning to resemble a proper frontline was established, it wasn't surprising to have hundreds of forces of both sides deep in the other's side borders, causing havoc behind enemy lines.
Last that Gruk heard, the entire shopping district was still being held by a large gathering of succubus and cultists, who were performing sadistic rituals with all the people held there horrific enough that the screams could be heard for half a dozen districts surrounding it.
The borders of the entire district were so thick with the blood and corpses of both the loyalists and the demons that the cultists had created makeshift walls made out of people's bodies to better hold the lines against waves after waves of enraged loyalists.
Someone had suggested burning the horrific things and the cultists within them, but another had pointed out that if they did that, the fires would block both the cultists and the loyalists off from each other for hours before everything finished burning.
So instead they had to keep charging at the place the old-fashioned way, and pay the price in even more blood and bodies.
From what he'd heard, the streets of every district surrounding the shopping district were so full of blood that it reached the ankles of even the tallest species living there.
Not that the rest of the undercity was much better. Gruki tried not to look at the brain matter splattered less than a meter away from him, where an unfortunate soldier got snipped hard enough that his head exploded like an overripe fruit.
Gruk took firm hold of his laser rifle, trying to stop the shaking of his hands. He was a hairdresser, for gods' sake! He shouldn't be here, holding a trench line!
But he had a wife he loved and two young children, and he'd seen what the bastards on the other side did to whoever they got their hands and claws on.
Giving his wife a gun just in case she needed to kill herself and the kids was the hardest thing he did in his life… and yet, the last few hours showed him he had been wise to do so, if the worst happened and they were cornered.
Better a quick death than… he shuddered. What he'd seen.
"Here they come!"
Gruk snapped out of his thought at the captain's shout, his eyes easily seeing the running mob of cultists and demons covered in blood, some of them even still holding on the decapitated heads of their latest victims as if they were some kinds of fucked-up trophies.
"Steady!" shouted the captain, even as Gruk, along with everyone still alive, picked their target and aimed. "Steady!"
Gruk swallowed, his blood thundering in his ears as he watched the distance shrink. Even after a day of fighting, he couldn't get used to how fast a mob of murderous maniacs could move.
As he tried to focus on the target he picked, he suddenly blinked, not believing his eyes.
The one he was watching through his rifle's scope… was one of his regular clients!
Gruk stared, a part of him frozen in shock at the revelation, wondering how long the guy had been a cultist of the Abyss. From the first time they had met, years ago? More recently, when the guy showed up less than two months ago?
Or maybe the man just snapped and went mad today. He wouldn't be the first.
For a moment, he hesitated, because it was one thing to kill a stranger, it was another to kill someone who he had laughed with not even two months ago.
"Open fire!"
The order came, and Gruk snapped out of his shock, aiming again at the guy.
Seeing the blooded skull hanging at the man's waist, he knew there was only one thing left to do.
He fired, and this time it was the enemy whose head exploded into blood and gore.
Heh, he thought with amusement, even as he lined up his next shot. I always guaranteed all of my clients the best haircut of their lives. I guess that hasn't changed, even at the end of the world.
He fired again. Another head exploded.
Satisfaction guaranteed, with scissors or rifle. Not a bad motto for the shop…
"So, why did you request this private meeting, beloved?"
I looked at Azathoth, her golden eyes staring at me and Oedon curiously.
I had indeed made sure to bring Azathoth to a "deeper" layer of the Hunter's Dream, one where absolutely no one could spy on. Not that the upper layer could be spied on either, but these deeper ones held even more protection, just in case. Right now, we were sitting around a table outside the mansion, the light of the bright white moon and stars shining beautifully above our heads.
I exchanged a glance with Oedon, before looking back at Azathoth with serious looks on our faces.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but the purpose of Eldritch cults is ultimately to try and summon the Eldritch gods themselves into the material universe, is it not?" Oedon asked her.
Azathoth looked at her curiously, but nodded.
"Up to a point, that is true. Some gods are already within the material universe, or simply do not wish to enter it for whatever reason. But many seek a way to be summoned within the material universe, that is correct. The birthplace of most Eldritch gods, especially the oldest ones, are in the Void. As a result, going from the Void to the material universe is a very hard thing to do… At least with their true forms. Mere Astral projection is easy enough, just… not physically traveling there."
Oedon and I shared another glance, before we looked back at Azathoth.
"We asked for this private meeting for two reasons. The first… is to inform you that both Oedon and I, especially me since you acknowledged me as Lord of the Eldritch, can easily allow Eldritch gods to come in and out of the material universe at will." I explained.
Azathoth stared, a look of stunned disbelief spreading over her face.
"Beloved… are you certain? Something like that is-" she cut herself off, shaking her head before giving me a serious look. "You are both sure of this?" she asked, glancing between me and Oedon.
"We are." replied Oedon. "There can be no doubt. We can help Eldritch gods, even Outer Gods, enter the material universe with ease… or otherwise banish them from it. Only the mightiest of the gods can hope to resist us."
Azathoth passed a hand through her hair, which was writhing with agitation, as if in response to her emotional turmoil.
"You two… if that is indeed true, the consequences will be massive. The sheer leverage that this alone would give you in the politics of the Eldritch Pantheon, and through it, the kingdom as a whole…" she trailed off, her mind obviously racing as she considered the implications of that revelation.
"There's more." I warned her.
She blinked, a quick look of disbelief flashing in her eyes. "More?"
"I am an Outer God of Death." I told her bluntly. "But that means I am an Eldritch God of Death. And one of the powers I possess… is to speedrun the time required for a dead Eldritch deity to come back to life in full."
Azathoth froze, before a glimmer of understanding flashed through her eyes. "You gave True Death to those gods who supported the sacrifice of innocent lives… If you can do that, then you can do the opposite, and bring gods back to life."
I nodded. "That's right. Gods like Cthulhu, or others who fully died, are ones I can bring back at will. Instead of having to wait eons and be reborn weaker, if I do it, they can come back instantly at the peak of their power."
It would be harder to do for Outer Gods, but Outer Gods tended to just… not die at all considering their raw power, and the more powerful the god in question, the more true that fact was.
So for all intent and purposes, I could indeed bring back any dead and dreaming Eldritch Gods back.
Azathoth sighed, putting a hand on her head as if she was fighting a headache.
"Beloved… You understand how important both of these abilities are. Alone, they could very well secure your reign, to say nothing of combined with your ability to grant True Death to Eldritch Gods. Between the ability to banish or summon gods to the material universe, and the ability to act as the Arbiter of life and death for Eldritch Gods, you will have everybody swearing to serve you in exchange of the boons that you and Oedon can grant them."
"The humans have a saying about the carrot and the stick, I believe." Oedon mused thoughtfully. "Well, that is our plan. Make them fear dear Aeon's wrath by holding the threat of annihilation above their heads, and make them love and respect us for giving them the means to pursue their ambitions and protect them from death itself."
Azathoth pursed her lips, nodding slowly. "That'll work. It literally can only work, as there is nobody else capable of doing the same. For the first, your ability to help others travel the planes of existence is only shared with Yog-sothoth, and even she cannot claim the same as you. She can do similar, but not so easily and perfectly as what you are implying you are capable of."
She shook her head. "And the second? The Eldritch Pantheon doesn't have a god of Death like you in it. It's unprecedented. Yes, Eldritch Gods of Death, though rare, do exist, but…"
"They are all evil maniacs?" I finished dryly, with Azathoth flinching and laughing sheepishly, looking away.
"So we can expect the announcement of our capabilities to make waves." finished Oedon knowingly.
Azathoth let out a snort of amusement. "That's one way of putting it, yes."
"Well, that's a good thing… for us." I declared.
Azathoth laughed softly. "Oh, don't get me wrong, beloved! It's absolutely fantastic news. Not only will it secure your rule by my side, but it will have wide scale consequences on all of Eldritch society."
She smiled wryly, though her golden eyes shone with love, pride and joy. "It just seems like you are thoroughly enjoying casually shattering eons of traditions and previously accepted facts about Reality."
She sighed. "And I've yet to even meet that impossible mortal hero you fought against, too."
"In your defense, that was a surprise for us all." Oedon told her kindly.
"That does not make it better. If anything, it's even worse." groaned the creator-deity of Reality, looking the furthest thing from graceful and awe-inspiring as she slumped in her chair and pouted like a frustrated child.
I smiled in amusement at the antics of Azathoth, warping space to let me lean forward and kiss her on her pouty lips.
She blinked, then giggled and happily kissed me back.
"You're going to be taking the politics of the Eldritch pantheon and kingdom by storm, you know." Azathoth told me a moment later, golden eyes gleaming with amused anticipation. "Having a king by itself would cause shockwaves, but with those abilities on top of that? Even without you being my beloved, you would have become a pillar of the Eldritch Pantheon. As it is…"
Space warped, and a moment later my arms closed around Azathoth, who was happily snuggling against my chest.
"I'm very glad to have by my side, beloved." she whispered tenderly. "It has been many eons since I've felt as happy as I am now."
"He has that effect on people." Oedon agreed, a wistful, gentle look in her soft blood red eyes as she took in the sight of the goddess snuggling against me. Occasionally, a tentacle or several would appear from Azathoth, gently holding me tight before disappearing.
I smiled, letting Azathoth enjoy the moment, but sadly I had to break it as there was another reason for why I wanted to talk to Azathoth in private.
"There's something else I wanted to talk to you about. Or, rather, to show you." I told her, before sighing. "Something that might come in handy, in case the future war against the Abyss does not go well."
Azathoth looked up at me with a blinked and a slight pout. "Aeon, please tell me that it won't make me question even more of reality than I already am because of you."
I smiled sadly. "You know that the Aeons were originally meant as weapons against you and yours, in the worst case scenario?"
Azathoth grimaced, not eager to contemplate that horrific scenario, but nodded all the same.
I stood up, still holding on my little limpet of a goddess, who had wrapped her arms, legs and several tentacles around me to stay pressed against my chest.
"Let me show you the War Vaults." I said grimly.
Oedon stood up as well, her expression turning more serious considering the topic of discussion.
She still sent an amused look at Azathoth, who seemed perfectly happy to stay where she was, hugging me tightly with a delighted expression on her face.
Going even deeper into the Hunter's Dream, we went by the areas that all my lovers knew and had access to, to ones they knew but typically didn't bother with (such as the Vaults full of enough wealth to buy a few multiverses with ease) and finally…
The Vaults that no one but me and Oedon knew existed.
Here, the experiments that me and Oedon considered secrets took place. Studies into the nature of our divinity, of our powers, and more. Countless rooms opened on self-contained realms of all kinds, many of which would be utterly incomprehensible to even most Outer Gods. Power and abilities capable of reshaping Reality on a grand scale were trained here, creating short lived wonders and horrors beyond most being's imagination.
Azathoth finally let go of me, a storm of expression flashing through her golden eyes as she studied each and every room. Powers and abilities unlike anything she had ever seen or heard of flashing before her eyes, she stayed by my side, remained silent even as she saw things she quite obviously had many questions about.
Paradoxical creations, which should not possibly exist and yet did all the same, fought nameless, unknown and yet horrific wars within those rooms, becoming stronger and more deadly with every battle. Weapons of such terrifying might that even Yog-Sothoth would blanch at the mere knowledge of their existence were incredibly carefully tested, and adjusted as needed to ensure that, should they ever be needed, they would prove as terrifyingly capable as possible.
Entire simulated Realities and multiverses were created and annihilated in mere moments, as weapons and battles beyond anything a mortal mind could ever have nightmares of were unleashed against one another.
Legions of mechanical servants that would put the Necrons of warhammers 40k and their C'tans master to shame fought against biological horrors so horrifying that even the Tyranids would flee to the end of the universe to escape them, rather than offer battle.
And then, finally, what we were there for.
On a random table, I reached out into nothing.
From there, I withdrew a bottle of wine.
Following a list steps steps as nonsensical as they were deliberately incomprehensible, (Azathoth and Oedon did not bother hiding their laughter at watching me dance in a pink tutu, but shame was for people who weren't Hunters) I then had to deal with far more serious steps to go where I wanted to, including answering question about magic, science and more than only a handful of gods in existence could possibly know the answer of… And even then, I was pretty sure at least some of those questions had answers known only to Oedon and myself.
Finally, a simple question was left, asking me a simple thing:
A name.
My original name, known only to me and Oedon.
A moment later, a door appeared, and we stepped through.
Azathoth took one look at what was inside, frowned in confusion, peered at the content with her divinity-
And then blanched in horror.
"This is the Nameless Vault." I said softly. "Called such because the things it contains hold no names. They do not exist. And, hopefully, they never will."
What was in that Vault? Memories. Thoughts.
My thoughts and memories. Specifically, my thoughts and memories of the worst horrors even my divine mind could conjure. Forces so great and terrible that they were not even simulated. They existed only in the specific thoughts that I had extracted from my mind, entirely theoretical, and kept that way by stasis fields so powerful that they bordered on self-contained pieces of unreality itself.
Here, a cognito-hazard entity would rewrite the minds of even the mightiest of gods if even the slightest signs of imperfection in their mental defenses existed. It could only be killed if all life forms in existence in all multiverses it had reached were eradicated, body, mind and soul, as the moment it touched a multiverse, all living things within it carried a piece of it within themselves.
There, a technically mechanical construct (though it was so advanced it hardly could be called such) would self-replicate and create armies capable of conquering the omniverse entirely if given enough time. It could devour anything for resources to make more of itself, even the raw fabric of Reality itself. Entire multiverses could cease to exist as the metaphysical matter making them up would be used to make armies more terrifying than anything the omniverse has ever known.
Over there, another cognito-hazard entity linked with the Void would be created to conceptually infect and annihilate anything it was ordered to erase from existence. The raw fabric of Reality itself would once again be nothing more than nourishment for it, and the more things it erased, the greater it would become. In time, it could bring the True Death of the omniverse as a whole.
All of these had loyalty programs within them so great, so thorough, so perfect that they strained even the capabilities of my True Self. And of course, those loyalty programs would remain updated at all times, and be carefully monitored by my True Self at all times.
It said something about those things, and all others I had thought up, that I still had no desire to ever make them Reality. That I had employed the greatest protection that even my True Self could think up to ensure they could never come to exist without my express approval.
As it is, I was still fearful they could spontaneously come to life without all the defenses I put into places. So great was their potential power that even the omniverse would be as an all-you-can-eat buffet before each of them.
"This is…" Azathoth stammered, an uncharismatic look of horror in her eyes as she took in the theoretical existences before us.
"Had we gone to war against one another, and if I had believed that victory was impossible without drastic measures, this was my back-up plan." I waved at what stood before me. "I would have loved my creations. Cherished them with all my heart. But I would not be blind to the fact that Reality itself would never be the same again. It could never be the same again, not with entities like those in it."
I looked at what stood before me with a mix of pride, love, and grim solemnity.
"They would have made even the Aeons look small. Even Damelone would be hard-pressed to win by herself against some of these beings. They would have been a pantheon of being as great as they were terrible in the religious meaning of the words. Their very existence would rewrite the very meaning of the building blocks of Reality."
My expression hardened. "They would be my beloved weapons of war, and with them I would reign supreme upon the omniverse… or what would be left of it by the time victory, or the closest equivalent, could be achieved. They would have helped ensure that Evil would never, ever triumph… Even if that meant burning Creation itself to a shadow of its former self for it."
I sighed deeply. "They would have been my greatest achievements… and my greatest sin."
I felt Oedon hug me gently from the left, her head resting on my shoulder as she silently sought to comfort me.
I hugged her back, but my eyes never left the floating, frozen forms of the thoughts and memories scattered in this room.
"This, Azathoth, is one of my greatest secrets. The tools by which I can conquer reality by force, if it ever becomes required."
Azathoth stared at the sight before her in silence for a long moment, saying nothing, her golden eyes going from frozen glowing memory-form to frozen, glowing memory-form.
"I see." she finally whispered. "So this is the depths of your conviction, beloved?"
My lips quirked into a humorless smile.
"I am a Hunter of Yharnam. I always prepare for the worst, even as I hope for the best."
My smile fell, and I looked at the things before me with tired, yet determined eyes.
"I am the Good Hunter, but a Hunter I remain. And a Hunter must Hunt. If ever Reality as a whole is threatened by evil, if ever everything must be put on the line for the sake of sanity, goodness, and a brighter tomorrow… Then I will shoulder the burden of responsibility. I will ensure the death of Evil… No matter what."
The look in my eyes then and there wasn't that of a mortal. It wasn't that of a lesser god, who needed to worry about only a single world, or multiverse at most.
Here and now, I was the God-King of Creation, the Ruler of the Omniverse, and I was ready to pass judgment upon it all, if it was ever required.
Madness. Conviction. Determination. Whatever you wish to call it, in the end I was a simple man, who refused to go gently into that good night. Who refused to let evil triumph.
I was the man mad enough to thrive in Bloodborne.
And Reality would burn before I ever, ever admitted defeat.
Against the Eldritch, the Abyss, or any other evil, that would never change.
Azathoth stared at me, then smiled sadly, yet also lovingly. "You truly love my creation, to be willing to go so far for it."
She walked to my free side and hugged me, and I hugged her back, one goddess in each of my arms now.
"Very well, then." Azathoth whispered. "If it ever becomes necessary… I will make sure to show you the depths of my own conviction, too."
Despite what stood before us, we fell into comfortable silence.
Whatever the future held for us all, we would face it together.
And that was enough for us to face it with a smile.
A.N: Alright! Here is the next chapter in which we continue the events of Love Azathoth!
And the war is on! A mostly Black Dragonflight focused chapter, though we'll see the other dragonflights in the future chapters. The squad of Corporal Sitch will be one of the focus of the Arc, as we get to see how bad things are on the ground for your regular soldier.
I tried to show off how brutal war can be, and how easily death can come at any moment. Whether from artillery, assassins striking at leaders, and more, the dragons will not win without paying a bloody price. Even with clerics with resurrection spells, death can all too easily still come with horrific ease.
Also, for those wondering, the crystalline entity that appeared when Gazghull died was one of the non-humanoid Aeons that focuses on Life and Death and ensuring that souls go where they are meant to go (in this case, Pharasma's Court). Astral demons trying to snatch the souls of the dead are very much a concern in a battle like this one, after all.
And Azathoth was finally informed of exactly how badly Aeon and Oedon break the normal limits of Eldritch gods, before finding out one of the greatest secrets of Aeon: the Nameless Vault, where the things that scares even him exist, in the "break in case of emergency" kind.
It won't really come up again, though it'll be mentioned in the future of the story, once we get to DOOM and the Eldritch-Demonic war at last. The point of this scene was to add some character to Aeon, and show one of the reasons why he doesn't believe himself a good man: anyone willing to create the horrors in that Vault, no matter the reasons, shouldn't call himself a good man as far as he is concerned. It also shows how seriously he takes his duty to all of Reality, that he's willing to create beings that would scare even Outer Gods for the sake of fighting a greater evil.
Mind you, he'd love those creations if they ever had to be given life, and he wouldn't fall into the stupid trope of "self-fulfilling prophecies" where his fear cause them to go rogue, but yeah, he's still disturbed at how far he's willing to go for victory, and rightly so.
Still, with all that being said, I hope you all enjoyed this update! Next time, the dragon war continues, as the other dragonflights do their own parts in this struggle, and the Eldritch servants of the new Lord of the Eldritch get to work as well…