God's Demon

concentrate his efforts on the ex-god’s weaker side.

At the periphery of his awareness, Adramalik began to sense the legions of Dis pulling back, melting away from the duel that had only moments before seemed so important to them. Now their own existence was in jeopardy as the first wave of souls attacked their flanks. The Chancellor General, himself, felt the tug of both battles but remained in place, unable to pry himself away from the unfolding duel. Valefar’s wondrous, awful sword was, more and more, finding its mark, and every grunt from Moloch revealed his diminishing strength. With grim satisfaction, Adramalik watched events unfolding just as he had hoped.

* * * * *

Streaking down through the murky clouds, Eligor burst into clear air only to see his lord and the staff generals beset on all sides by Faraii’s Shock Troops. With lances extended, Eligor’s Flying Guard hit the black-armored soldiers from above, catching them unaware as their ax-hands rose and fell. He could not immediately see the Baron and so moved deftly from one trooper to the next, penetrating their heavy armor from above wherever possible. Sargatanas had been right to suggest that Eligor’s lightly armed Guard would be relatively ineffectual against Faraii’s soldiers. The best Eligor could hope for was to slow them and wound them enough to make his lord’s work easier.

For their part, Sargatanas and the other Demons Major were taking a heavy, relentless toll, felling the enemy one by one, but not as quickly as Eligor would have hoped. Brief, intense fountains of sparks arose where Lukiftias shattered another of Faraii’s elite warriors. Too often, though, the Shock Troopers’ axes found their mark, and to his dismay, Eligor saw Bifrons fall amidst a brilliant flash, cleft completely across his waist.

Gradually, amazingly, Eligor saw the combination of his Guards’ and the embattled Demon Majors’ blade- work take effect; the dark, hulking Troopers began to give ground, falling one at a time as they grudgingly moved backward. Finally he spotted Faraii, untouched, flicking his blade skyward to deflect the new aerial onslaught. Eligor looked at the lean figure, so masterful in his attacks, so poised, and hated him more than he could have imagined. As he watched he saw the Baron suddenly break ranks and fall back, Eligor guessed, to lead his now-beleaguered troops in a reluctant retreat. Pulling up, Eligor saw the souls under Hannibal’s generalship crash into the enemy legions’ flanks, causing great confusion. Faced by an enemy at both their head and tail, the legions of Dis began to flee from either side. But where was Valefar?

* * * * *

Moloch was clearly weakening; that much was obvious to Adramalik. While the Pridzarhim still swept out with his remaining Hook, the conviction, the snap to his wrist, was missing from his attempts. Valefar, seriously injured himself, was taking his time, measuring, picking the targets carefully upon the ex-god’s body and then flicking his sword with precision. Each wound caused a new flow of black blood, a new degradation of Moloch’s considerable power, a near stumble, a tiny hesitation.

The Chancellor General began to sense the shifting tides around him, the dwindling of his own forces to his back, and the sudden influx of soldiers as they began to retreat from the wavering front. With little effort he now saw Shock Troopers, and perhaps Baron Faraii himself, backing away from the vortex of destruction that emanated from Sargatanas and his fellow generals. And, hearing the tumult from the souls attacking behind him, he began to wonder whether it was fast growing time to withdraw.

Valefar flicked his sword and a terrible scream rent the air as Moloch’s already-disabled hand fell to the ground severed. Blood streamed thickly from the wound, black and thick, clotting upon the fleshy ground and making the Pridzarhim’s footing uncertain.

Adramalik suddenly saw souls hacking at his legionaries, much closer than he had realized. Turning fully around, he saw the same soul—their general, he guessed—leap into the fray upon the back of his Abyssal mount. The soul was clearly an expert rider, raising his mount upon two feet to avoid the more concentrated knots of fighting soldiers. Swinging a heavy sword, the general leaned far out of his saddle, chopping fiercely at Adramalik’s demons, even destroying one of his Knights not thirty paces from him. The battle had turned, and now, Adramalik thought, now would be the time to leave the field. He glanced back at Moloch. No need to stay; the duel’s outcome was all but certain.

Shock Troopers and demons from Adamantinarx fought just behind Valefar, but seeming not to notice, he raised his sword once again and as it plunged deep into the ex-god’s chest a strange look came over the demon lord’s face— a look of shock and puzzlement mixed. For just an instant Adramalik thought he saw the thin point of a black sword protruding from just beneath Valefar’s chin. The blade worked from side to side, deftly slicing a long arc, and then was gone. Did I really see it? Adramalik wondered. Without waiting he turned and ran, finding a dozen or so of his Knights who had banded together for protection against the overwhelming numbers of souls who now flooded across the field. Escape was uppermost in their minds.

It was a total failure. Somehow, he thought, somehow Sargatanas has done it again!

Dis was a long way off; with them hunted continually by Sargatanas’ troops, theirs would be a difficult journey home. And, Adramalik realized with a pang of terror, at the end of that journey the Prince, without his Consort and now his champion as well, would welcome him from this day with little less than total contempt and all of the pain that it would bring.

* * * * *

Eligor dove down toward where Valefar had been standing, the sense of urgency pounding in his head, the hot air screaming beneath his wings as he tried to gain speed. He had finally spotted the demon lord amidst a carpet of retreating demons, found him by the fire of his blue-flame sword. Moloch, Eligor had also seen. The ex-god was struggling to stand, propped up by his broken wing-stilts and burned by a hundred cuts. Valefar stood before him, legs apart and sword-arm outstretched, but something was not right, because as Eligor descended he had seen the sword leave the demon lord’s hand and fall to the ground. And then, to Eligor’s horror, he had seen a brilliant flash followed by a gathering whirlwind that began to obscure the field in a funnel of ash that grew in intensity, making his and his fellow Guardsdemons’ rapid descent extremely difficult.

When he alighted he knew that what he had feared, what in the back of his mind he had tried to deny, was true. Valefar was nowhere to be seen and Moloch was still alive, panting heavily, blood streaming in a hundred rivulets, single Hook raised defiantly. At bay and swiping at the Flying Guard who were harrying him with their lances, he was dangerous yet.

The Guard Captain, momentarily in shock, saw his lord’s sigil through the wavering sheets of wind-driven ash and the countless fleeing enemies; Sargatanas was nearly at hand, and Eligor knew that his lord would be all too eager to confront Moloch. But as that thought crossed his mind, Hannibal’s steed leaped upon two legs into view, the general pulling hard upon the reins, making the creature drop quickly down on all fours. Without hesitating, Hannibal sprang down from the saddle and attacked the ex-god, swinging the sword that Sargatanas had given him with a fury that Eligor had never conceived possible in a soul.

Moloch, spent as he was, was no faster than Hannibal in his defensive moves. They traded blows and parries and then one long, raking attack caught Hannibal on his shoulder, twisting him around and tearing a gash that peeled the soul’s left arm to his knee and lodged the Hooks in his ribs. Moloch tried, futilely, to disengage the weapon from the soul’s body for a killing blow but in the effort brought Hannibal to within striking distance. Caught on the weapon and grimacing with pain, he leaned in even closer to the bent form of the ex-god and with a single vicious one-handed chop severed the snarling head from its neck. Immediately the ground began to shake, knocking Hannibal and those demons around him off their feet, and Eligor, some paces away, took wing and watched Moloch’s body collapse inward in a red flare of light and disappear.

When the shaking of the ground had subsided, Eligor rushed to the Soul-General’s side, pulling him to one knee. Carefully Eligor pulled the giant Hook from the terrible wound. Hannibal held himself up by his sword and raised his eyes to Eligor’s.

“So you see,” Hannibal said weakly, “it is not so hard to kill one’s god, after all.” His eyes closed and he slumped against the demon’s leg.

Eligor nodded respectfully; he knew what Moloch had been to Hannibal and understood what the soul had achieved. Eligor waved some of his Guard over to surround Hannibal and instructed them to bind his wounds. The Soul-General was still alive, and Eligor carefully watched glyphs-of-healing being created to keep him that way until they returned to Adamantinarx. Eligor was uncertain about the soul’s ability to heal himself; these awful wounds had been inflicted by a weapon with unimaginable properties. When he looked up he saw the welcome form of