NOVEL FROG Chapter 35 - Demons, Not Demons
Chapter 35 – Demons, Not Demons
Palmira stood atop of the black basalt walls of Iscrimo, mages and soldiers and fellow guild members preparing alongside her. In her hands she held Morte and Malocchio with a white knuckled grip, the two of them having been shoved into her hands as they dragged her up the walls.
The walls themselves spanned ancient, near impenetrable towers. They were built around the many lava canals, the rivers of molten rock pouring down the mountainside as much a defense as any of the walls. Far below towns and villages dotted the cliffs, terrace farms scattered between them to make the most of the volcanic soil. A single road trailed north through the valley, swiftly fading into smog and trees.
Somewhere, just out of sight, an army of demons marched.
“How long until they get here?” Palmira whispered, nervous sparks dancing through her hair.
“Long enough for us to prepare, not enough for much else,” the guildmaster groused, standing behind her. He wasn’t much good in a fight, so he was just here for moral support. “The demons are rushing here, apparently. They aren’t even bothering to attack any of the villages or forts on the way.”
“But to invade from this direction means they’d have to march through the entirety of the Cantons!” Teresa hissed, taking a momentary break from angry prayers. “Even if they evaded everything between here and the border, there’s no way we wouldn’t have heard anything until now!”
“I’m aware,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, leveling an exhausted glare down at the valley below. “Unless the demons have suddenly discovered the secrets of teleportation—which I doubt, due to the fact that they are currently walking here—then there is something else going on here. Something that is, frankly, not our problem. Is that understood? I don’t care how the demons got here, just that we leave. This city just tried to have us framed for regicide—as far as I’m concerned, we do the bare minimum and then we go home.”
“Do we… have to stay?” Palmira spoke up, feeling guilty about having to ask this. “Couldn’t we just leave them to handle this on their own?”
“If only,” he sighed. “At this point, it’s about reputation. The Demons represent an existential threat to civilization. If it got out we tried to flee a battle like this—no matter the circumstances—our guild would be at best shunned and forced into bankruptcy. At worst, we could be facing excommunication. A real one, not merely the threat they leveled at the Ambrosi.”
“Are we at least getting paid?” Anima called from further down the line.
“Of course,” the guildmaster scoffed. “As if I didn’t wring them out for every coin they were worth. So all of you better survive—we’re getting paid by the person, and corpses can’t collect.”
“Good. Rule number one of adventuring, newbie,” Anima nodded to her. “Don’t put your life on the line if you aren’t getting paid for it.”
“I see,” Palmira nodded, taking that all in. Then she took a moment to think on what she just heard. “Hey wait a minute—!”
“They’re here!” Morte suddenly shouted, breaking the silence he’d fallen into since they first arrived at the top of the walls.
Immediately all conversation ceased. All of their guild members jumped into position, weapons and magic prepared. A chain reaction rippled from where they were stationed as the rest of the soldiers instinctively followed their lead. Within moments the army atop the walls stood ready and waiting for the monsters to arrive.
A tense silence fell over the assembled warriors. For a long, hopeful moment, it almost seemed like Morte was mistaken, that nothing would appear and they could relax.
But then…
Demons.
They poured from the forest by the dozens, and then by the hundreds. They ranged in size from vile White Rabbits to lumbering Trolls nearly as tall as the very trees they’d hid behind. Burning Men rode forth on Nightmares, the unholy cavalry flanking a legion of corrupted dwarves who’s eyes bled yellow flames onto cracked warhammers. Deeper in the woods greater horrors lurked, visible only by the barest flickers of movement and the glinting of washed-out lights. Eye-snatchers, Gazers, and other eldritch beasts slunk in from the rear, their mere presence enough to warp the air around them into something Other.
Countless more marched out of the forest, and she had a bone-deep certainty that countless more would follow.
“There are so many demons…” she whispered, her stomach sinking in horror.
“Actually,” Morte jumped to correct her, “there’s only one.”
“What? Wait, does that even matter?”
“Of course it matters! ‘Demons’ are not monsters. While the uneducated have a tendency to confuse the two, Demons are in fact their own distinct race, with a culture and language just like any other. They’re characterized by their purple skin and white hair. Monsters, on the other hand, are either magical animals or a member of a previously sapient race who has lost their mind and regressed into a mere beast.”
“Morte, this really isn’t the time,” she growled. Then she squinted. Absently, she snatched a fareye from Dante, ignoring the guildmaster’s scowl. “…Which one is the Demon? I don’t see it.”
“It’s the one in the center, there’s a bit of a clearing around her. The purple looking person, surrounded by Black Knights? Arrogant moron. She’s sacrificed her long-term health in exchange for power. Though, if the state of her body is any indication, maybe that’s not so unthinkable a trade…”
Palmira squinted, ignoring his grumblings as her eyes roved over the gathered horrors to search for the ‘Demon.’ And when she finally found it, she almost wished she hadn’t.
It had a body superficially similar to a woman’s, and like Morte said her skin was a deep purple and her hair white as starlight. But that wasn’t what horrified her. It was the eyes. Dozens of yellow, sickly eyes grew like warts across her body, some so small they were impossible to see at this distance, while the biggest grew from the Demon’s stomach like a tumor. Ironically, it looked like the only places where there weren’t eyes were her eye sockets, where instead twin stars burned a bloated, uncomfortable red.
But beyond the horror, the woman felt… almost familiar. In fact, it reminded her of—
…
Something just happened.
She clutched her forehead, putting down the fareye. “What…?”
“Ouch,” Morte hissed. “Okay kid, whatever you were just thinking of? Stop thinking about it. Someone’s put a Taboo on the concept. That’s not the kind of thing you try to deal with right before a fight, at least not if you want to survive it. Whatever it was, save it for later.”
“O…kay…” she hissed, blinking spots out of her vision. “Ouch…”
“Did you lock eyes with a Gazer?” Teresa asked, grimacing a bit in sympathy. “They can’t kill you from this distance, but it still hurts.”
“No, not that.” She shook her head. “It was something else. I saw the Demon, and Morte says there was a Taboo?”
“You saw it!?” Dante grabbed her shoulder suddenly, as everyone within earshot suddenly turned to her. “What did it look like? Can you tell its clan from here?”
“Uh, maybe?” she flailed, not having expected the sudden interest. “I don’t know what you mean by clan, but she had… eyes. A lot of eyes, all over her body. They were yellow and disgusting looking and made me feel unclean just by looking at them.”
Dante sucked in a harsh breath, and even Morte swore. “What?” she asked, suddenly much more worried. “What’s wrong?”
“This Demon is a follower of Nytheloph the All-Seeing,” Morte informed her, as Dante stormed away to spread the word of what she’d seen to the rest of the soldiers. “One of the surviving Demon Lords, even if it’s the least obviously successful one. To tell the truth, it’s surprising it sent an army all this way, considering it’s the furthest of them from this border. Though maybe it shouldn’t be—if there’s any Demon Lord capable of sneaking an army this far into enemy territory, it’s that one.”
“Is that bad?” she asked, starting to panic a bit. “I thought the demon lords didn’t leave their territories? Oh Goddess, is that demon down there the Demon Lord!?”
“Hey, hey! Breathe, kid. The All-Seeing isn’t here. Well, physically, at least. That lady down there’s not the Demon Lord—hell, fun fact, not a single demon lord is actually a demon!”
That, somehow, snapped her out of spiraling further. “What? Wait, how does that work?”
“Well, the title ‘Demon Lord’ is a bit of a misnomer—languages constantly evolving throughout the centuries and all that rot—but at it’s core a ‘Demon Lord’ is a ‘Lord of Demons.’ There’s nothing in that definition that states the Lord has to be a Demon themselves. Only the Demon King himself was a demon, and a surprisingly egalitarian one at that, if you consider his successors!”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” she frowned. “Why do the demons follow, um, whatever the Demon Lords are?”
“Why do humans bow to elves, or dwarves bow to dragons? When it comes to competent leaders, race isn’t as much as issue as you’d expect. Each of the Demon Lords survived the Demon Wars, remember. If there was anyone for the survivors to rally behind, it would be them.”
As Morte continued to ramble about the political structures of the Demonlands to her, a commotion further down the walls caught her attention.
The Rettori had arrived, holding an ornate palanquin between the four of them. The Podesta sat within, smiling at each warrior he passed. His calm demeanor helped settle the tension that had spread through the ranks, restoring fractured discipline with his very presence.
Eventually their march brough them to the largest tower on the wall, the Rettori setting down the palanquin with barely concealed groans of relief. The Podesta glanced out over the edge of the walls, frowning with faint annoyance at the army of monsters far below.
“Well, I haven’t seen a sight like that in years,” he mused, tapping his fingers rhythmically along the edge of the palanquin. “I suppose it was inevitable, even if I hadn’t expected something like this quite so soon. Still, no reason to let them think they have a chance. Iscrimo is impregnable against a traditional siege—so, Demon, allow me to show you why.”
Suddenly, the temperature skyrocketed dramatically, a dry heat seeming to rise from the earth. The Podesta either ignored or was unaffected by this, and moved both his arms forward, palms facing the sky. Then, as though he were expending great effort to lift something heavy, he slowly heaved his palms up into the sky.
And the mountain rose with him.
Earth and stone shifted, the black basalt of the mountain shuddering and groaning as incalculable tons of rock were moved at the Podesta’s whim. The already impressive basalt walls grew even greater, doubling in both size and thickness beneath their feet, countless serrated spikes growing from the stone. Holes opened up across the mountainside, pyroclastic flows erupting violently and mixing with the already existing lava to barrel down the mountain towards the invading army, swerving around the existing towns and villages. Entirely new fortifications sprung fully formed from the smoke, a dozen new barriers haphazardly constructed that would have shamed even the greatest walls she’d seen in Firozzi.
And above it all the Podesta sat, slowly shifting his fingers to and fro like he was the conductor of a private orchestra. A small smile carved itself across his face, as though he were enjoying himself.
The Demon, however, did not remain idle.
She ordered her monsters forward, Grey Trolls lumbering behind the Burning Men with roars as the fireproof and resilient took the lead. Six of the Black Knights surrounding her broke away, charging ahead of the pack. Two took the lead, and bringing their swords low they roared, diverting the pyroclastic flow with a flick of their wrists, the shockwave from doing so powerful enough that those up on the walls could feel their hearts rattle in their chests.
Though the lava was only diverted for a moment before the Podesta regained control, it was enough for the Trolls to move into position around the other monsters, hefting great shields to block the molten rock. Of the Black Knights one turned west, keeping pace with the ever-shifting geography and diverting a great deal of the Podesta’s attention. The other was not so lucky, and after a failed parry he was tripped into one of the lava flows and quickly drowned beneath the molten rock.
The rest of the Black Knights closed distance with the walls, countless monsters close at their heels. The earth turned black from the sheer amount of volcanic rock now flowing over it, the only color visible the burning monsters which marched forward regardless. Some died, but for every one which fell a dozen more survived, their march on Iscrimo seeming ever more inevitable by the minute.
Palmira was jolted out of her petrified shock by frigid fingers tapping the back of her neck.
“Hey,” Johanna murmured in her ear. “Look alive, newbie. Freezing up now’ll just get you killed. Don’t focus on what the big hitters are doing—you can’t do shit about them. Only focus on what you can do, and trust your comrades to take care of the rest.”
Her piece said, the elf marched past her, flicking her fingers against the city walls. Each tap of her fingers caused frost to pool on the basalt. With crackles and pops the frost grew down the walls, and upon reaching the bottom exploded into a dozen whinnying reindeer. With coats of soft snow and jagged ice for antlers, they charged two-by-two into enemy lines, impaling every monster unfortunate enough to be in their path.
The other mages on the walls joined her, their own spells joining Johanna’s in a cacophony of color and death. Far to the left a storm of steel rose over the army, joined by dozens of magic blades which tore through ever more monsters. To her right a trio of lightning mages set up an improvised railgun, taking potshots at any monster dangerous enough to require their attention. Scattered across the walls stone and lava mages added their own power to the Podesta’s, further enhancing the defenses or joining the tide of molten stone as they saw fit.
And next to her her own guild members added to the rainbow of magic. Chiara held a small mirror in her hand, summoning forth a small army of crystal birds, while Lorenzo tossed down seeds which instantly grew into towering maneating plants. Teresa whispered prayers to the Goddess as she fired a crossbow alongside Johanna, who’d switched to firing one of those gunpowder weapons she occasionally saw. Anima danced back and forth along the wall, working up a sweat to summon the barest amount of water from the oppressive heat, using it to cast bouncing floods down the cliffside.
Everyone else was already fighting.
…It was time she joined too.
Taking a deep breath, Palmira forced down the terror she was currently experiencing. She stepped up to the edge of the wall, looking down over the battlefield below, and raised Morte high above her head.
“Are you ready to kill some demons, kid?”
Despite herself, her lips quirked into a smile. “I thought you said they weren’t demons?”
“Bah, that’s a matter of semantics! And besides, so long as you kill the one down there, you’ll still kill a demon!”
“Then,” she whispered, with a confidence she didn’t feel, “I’d better not miss.”