Demologia 01: Rise of a Demon 01

Fires flare on the barren, rocky fields of Hell, the stench of brimstone thick as the sulfurous clouds which occasionally rained acid. Used to such, Damien stalks across a blood-soaked battlefield, his eyes burning with determination. An elite blood demon soldier, his deep red skin blended into the terrain, broken up by his black leather uniform. He had been tracking his enemy, the demon commander Elagibborim, for days. Elagibborim’s distinctive grey skin, long, whip-like demon tail, and hooves that clicked against the ground as he moved made him easy to spot from a distance, and Damien had used an ambush to isolate him from his allies and servants then hunted him through the bloody fields of Hell. They were fighting for control over their demon forces and the territory they had claimed as their own. The stakes could not have been higher.

Elagibborim desperately fled the site of the ambush, hoping to make it back to where his elite troops were camped near his fortress. Damien knew he would, though, and cut him off at every turn. Finally, he cornered Elagibborim in a defile at the end of a canyon. Tired of the chase, the two demons circle each other warily. Their sword hilts gripped tightly in their hands, they taunt and mock each other, eager for the fight to begin and their conflict to end once and for all. Elagibborim in particular calls out Damien’s obvious lower status, calling him “baby red”, for though Damien had the bright red skin and horns that marked him a blood demon, he had yet to earn his wings or hellfire halo. Elagibborim, meanwhile, clacked his hooves and swished his tail, marking his higher lasher demon rank. Damien wasn’t impressed, however; Elagibborim had always been more manipulator than a fighter. The battlefields they had crossed in the chase was littered with the bodies of fallen demons of all kinds, adding to the thick, coppery smell of blood that mingled with the brimstone which hung in the air, and Damien was sure that once combat was joined his enemy would join them.

With a savage cry, Damien lunges forward, sword aimed at Elagibborim’s heart. The grey-skinned demon commander dodges nimbly to the side, his own sword slashing through the air where Damien had been moments before. The two demons dance around each other, their netheranium blades clashing with a deafening roar and showers of sparks. Sweat and dust flies through the air as they fight, their bodies straining with their demonic strength.

Time seems to slow down as they continue to circle, testing each other’s defenses, their gazes locked in as deadly embrace as their blades. The ground shakes beneath them, Hell’s psychoactive terrain reacting to their violence and hate, the aftershocks of their previous blows rippling through the earth. Suddenly, taking advantage of a particularly severe shake, a series of attacks by Damien throws his foe back, barely able to block the insistent attack. Elagibborim’s sword finally slips from his grip, clattering to the ground. Damien lunges forward, his sword raised high, intent on delivering the deathblow. But Elagibborim is faster; with a flick of his wrist, he magically sends his sword spinning through the air, aimed directly at Damien’s head.

Damien ducks just in time, the sword barely missing his horns. As he regains his footing, he sees Elagibborim has already drawn another smaller sword from his belt, his demon tail whipping back and forth in anticipation. The two demons return to circling each other once more, the metallic ring of their blades echoing as they each probe for openings in the other’s defenses, grunting and growling and howling their loathing for each other.

Damien, though, closely examines his opponent’s features, his stance, his breath; he sees him panting, unused to such personal combat. Damien knows the longer this goes the more the physical advantage will swing to him. Of course, it also opens the door for his foe to conjure some great trickery or magic to foil him and snatch victory. Damien knows he has to make sure that does not happen; he has to keep him occupied mentally as well as physically.

With a mocking laugh and a taunting grin, Damien feigns a lunge forward, only to leap back at the last moment. Damien’s evident disdain causes Elagibborim to over play his reaction, a wild parry, and he is instantly overbalanced. Damien lunges again, this time landing a solid hit on his enemy’s shoulder. Elagibborim cries out in pain and rage, his sword arm losing strength. Seeing his advantage, Damien presses forward, landing blow after blow on Elagibborim’s body. Blood spurts from the wounds, painting Damien’s claws and armor red. When some spatters across his face, Damien smiles and licks his lips.

Elagibborim is far from defeated, however, and the battle rages on as he falls back into a full defense. Still, Damien begins to sense that his enemy is tiring. With each parry and thrust, he presses the advantage, trying to finish Elagibborim off before he can gather enough strength to mount a counterattack. But the grey-skinned demon commander is cunning, using his demonic agility and occasional whips from his tail to avoid fatal blows and keep Damien at bay.

Trying to secure a better position, Elagibborim sidesteps down the defile and into a shallow creek, its foul water soon reddened by the blood that flows from their wounds. The mud beneath their feet sucks at Damien’s boots and Elagibborim’s hooves, slowing them down momentarily as they struggle for purchase. Damien growls, his muscles burning with exhaustion, but he refuses to give in. He knows that if he lets Elagibborim live, the grey-skinned demon will simply hole up in his fortress and gather an army, coming back stronger than ever.

With a surge of strength, Damien leaps forward, his sword aimed at Elagibborim’s throat. But once again the grey-skinned demon commander rolls to the side just in time, narrowly avoiding the blow. Damien lands awkwardly, his leg twisting under him. As he struggles to regain his footing, Elagibborim springs forward, his sword aimed at Damien’s chest. Damien raises his sword in a futile attempt to block, and although he manages to stop it from piercing his chest, he can feel the hot blade bite into the flesh of his shoulder instead as his own sword falls into the water.

Pain explodes through him as Elagibborim twists his blade, widening the wound. Damien gasps for breath, his vision beginning to darken. However, he lunges forward, jamming the blade further into his body, then yanks backward. Elagibborim’s sword, stuck in Damien’s collar bone, is pulled from Elagibborim’s hand as Damien staggers back. Thus disarmed, the grey-skinned demon is left with nothing but his claws to fight.

Damien’s blood flows freely, pooling around his feet, but he refuses to give up now that he had an advantage of his own. Certainly his foe has lost as much blood, if not more. With a growl of rage, he charges Elagibborim, his claws extended. The two demons clash once more, their bodies slamming into each other, then the ground. They roll across the muddy creek bed, their claws raking across the earth and each other’s flesh. The air fills with the stench of their blood and the cries of their pain as they fight desperately for their lives.

Finally, Damien twists Elagibborim under him, slamming his head against the bank. Elagibborim, however, manages to dig one of his claws into Damien’s shoulder wound, trying to tear into his body. Damien hisses in pain as the demon commander’s wicked claw digs into his raw wounded flesh. He grunts, but refuses to let Elagibborim go. Instead, he tightens his grip on him, digging in his own claws into the grey-skinned hide, and trying to keep him pinned under his own weight. The grey demon struggles futilely to shake him off, but his strength has badly waned as their struggle takes its toll.

Bit by bit, Damien inexorably forces Elagibborim’s claw back, first out of his flesh, then bending it further and further, until he can almost rip it from the demon’s own hand. Elagibborim screams in pain and rage, his eyes bulging from their sockets. Damien smiles grimly, feeling the victory within his grasp. He twists his body, bending Elagibborim’s arms back and grinding the grey-skinned demon into the muddy ground with his claws.

Elagibborim tries to whip himself back and forth wildly, sensing the end, but it’s futile. His strength is spent, his body broken. Damien leans forward, his breath hot and ragged against the demon’s ear. “You thought you could defeat me, Elagibborim?” he growled. “You thought you could lead your pathetic horde against us? You were a fool.”

With a savage snarl, Damien raises his claw, aiming it at the grey-skinned demon’s groin.