He was still in the middle of the enemy legions, so he gripped the end of his spear and swung it in a three-hundred and sixty degree circle to give himself more room. The three foot molecularly-honed blade cut a swath through the encircling enemy until it thunked into something with a loud CLANG.
There were very few things in existence that could stop a blade honed by infernal power to such a fine edge. Of those things, there was only one thing from hell that had any place on this battlefield; Infernal Iron.
Gerald looked up and had to look up some more at the giant whose armored breastplate had stopped his spear. The thing was easily ten feel tall. It had on a chestplate, gauntlets, and a helmet of dark Infernal Iron. Plumes of multi-colored feathers extended from the back of the helmet and down its back. A blood covered beak extended from inside the helmet and above that, concealed in partial darkness, was one big golden eye.
The enemy horde continued to surge forward to attack Seere’s legions, but they split around the two Infernal Knights. Soldiers in Hell might be ready to die for their lords and masters, but they weren’t going to step into the middle of a fight between virtual demigods. They had a semblance of self-preservation.
The enemy knight opened its blood-dripping beak to caw its defiance, and that’s when Gerald struck. He channeled a huge amount of power into his legs and mind. The world slowed to a crawl around him and he lunged forward. A few steps and he was right up in the other knight’s face. The enemy knight reacted, channeling its own store of power to counter Gerald’s sudden charge.
It stepped back but not quick enough. Gerald’s fist came up and hit the other knight in an uppercut right in his unarmored chin. The enemy’s skin resisted as he focused on making himself stronger than Gerald. For a moment it was a war of wills, but Gerald’s surprise attack gave him a heartbeats advantage over the other knight.
With a thought, the armor in Gerald’s gauntlets sprouted into pointed, poison-dripping spikes. The added weight of the Infernal Iron punched through the enemy knights hardening skin and pumped the poor bastard full of black tar.
The challenging caw became a screech of pain as the creatures head was rocked back. It stayed on its feet but not for long. Spider web veins of black started to trace through the knight as the poison spread. Gerald almost felt sorry as the enemy champion tried to rip out its own throat to stop the pain of the spreading poison, but it was too late.
The enemy knight fell to its knees with its hands around its throat, and Gerald saw the light in its golden eye go out as the poison took its toll. The now dead Infernal Knight of Beelzebub collapsed face-first onto the ground.
Gerald quickly stepped forward and placed his hand on the back of the dead creature. He didn’t pay any attention to the enemies still streaming all around him. No one would be brave enough to touch him after he’d just killed their own champion.
Under his breath Gerald spoke a few words. Words in the gutted, tortured language of the angels. While he chanted he felt the power of the dead knight. The power was rapidly fleeing the useless carcass and returning to Beelzebub’s kingdom, so Gerald had to act fast.
A power transfusion was difficult under normal circumstances. It required time, a precise ritual, diagrams, sigils, and sometimes a sacrifice to accomplish correctly. Sitting in the middle of a battlefield was a less than perfect scenario, but he had to make do. Gerald continued to chant the ancient words and the flow of power split in two. The majority of the power still flowed away from him, but a respectable amount was pulled back into him. He felt the exhaustion of the fight vanish, and the sizable amount of power expended in his short rampage return. He even felt a trickle more power flow into him before the tap ran dry.
He flexed his hands and pulled his spear from the dead knight side. The sound of metal on metal made him cringe, but it couldn’t upset his good mood.
Gerald was literally the strongest he’d ever been, and he was going to take it out on the thousands of enemy soldiers streaming around him toward General Icilius’ embattled legions.
Gerald almost felt sorry for the poor bastards he was about to slaughter; but “almost” was the key word. No one could feel sorry for anybody in Hell. Feelings like that was a weakness that got you killed.
True Power
Captain Icilius strode back and forth in front of the five men standing at attention. His eyes bore into each and every one of them. Gerald took the gaze for what it was meant to be; an inspection of their worthiness. Gerald was still scared of the Captain; and he should be, but he knew today wasn’t about intimidation. Today was the start of something new.
“You five are the most worthy of my company.” The captain didn’t have to call out like he was addressing his entire hundred-man unit, but he did anyway. “Don’t take that as a compliment.” His eyes dared anyone to think he was actually being nice. “Being the smartest of the stupid still means you are stupid, but you have shown enough skill in battle that I can be confident you won’t get killed immediately.”
The captain stopped walking back and forth to stand at the center of the formation. “Because of your mild aptitude you are being given a gift by your lord and master.”
Gerald waited with his eyes locked forward and his chin held high, but nothing happened. He knew better than to look around so he continued to stand there and do nothing.
“For the first time in your miserable lives you are going to be given real power.”
And that’s when it happened.
Gerald felt a pressure inside himself. He struggled to breath and remain at the position of attention as something warm and invigorating filled him. It was the first time since he stepped out of Prince Seere’s golden hall than Gerald hadn’t felt cold. In fact, for a brief moment, he felt whole.
Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Gerald and the other four soldiers collectively exhaled from the experience. The Captain had been right. It was the best Gerald had ever felt, but like everything in Hell it came with a downside. That feeling was fleeting and it left him wanting more.
“You’ve been gifted with a trickle of power. Something so minuscule compared to our Lord’s supreme dominance that there isn’t even a unit of measurement to describe its insignificance.” The Captain glowered at them.
Gerald daydreamed for a second about what it must be like to have so much power, but quickly banished the thought. Thinking like that was a sure way to get killed. Having your head in the clouds was a good way to lose it.
“Now that you have power, I am going to teach you how to use it.”
Gerald was understandably reluctant to be taught by the ridged man. After all, the first time he’d been taught something new the Captain’s spear had ended up in his gut.
“Power can be used in a variety of ways.”
Two soldiers brought out a thick log and placed it upright next to the Captain. Without looking the Captain unsheathed his sword and took a swing at the log. A loud THUMP echoed through the small clearing as the blade dug partially into the wood.
“You can use it to be stronger.”
Gerald’s eyes widened as the Captain visibly grew large and bulkier. Veins popped and the Captains eyes went wild as he swelled. With a short yell the Captain drew a second sword and slashed at the wood. The wood practically exploded around the point of impact. The blade didn’t go all the way through, but it did send the log flying a few dozen feet backwards and tumbling to the ground.
Gerald gulped as the Captain turned and pointed his sword at them.
“Strength and durability is valuable. But you can be the strongest infernal in Hell and be worthless if you can’t hit anything.” The Captain’s figu
re blurred and suddenly he was standing by the battered log several dozen feet away.
Gerald hadn’t been able to follow the man’s movement.
“Speed and strength together are much better than either alone.” The Captain effortlessly lifted the trunk, which must had weighed a thousand pounds, and walked it back over to the five soldiers. “But most of us don’t have the luxury of having both in sufficient quantity.”
Once the Captain dropped the tree his body shrunk back to his normal short and stocky shape.
“Power also gives us the ability to influence things and shape them to our will or empower them to function how we want them too.”
The Captain took his sword and held it out in front of him. For a moment he just stood there staring at it.
The captain gave it a casual flick and it cleanly sliced through the thick log. The ground shook slightly as the chunk of wood crashed to the ground. He went over to the dislodged piece, his muscles bulge again, and he picked it up. He walked back over to the man standing next to Gerald.
“Hold out your arms,” the officer commanded.
The man gulped but did what he was told.
“Find that power you felt. It could be in your mind, your gut, your heart, or your cock. Wherever it is, grab it firmly and believe. If you believe you are strong you will be strong. If you believe you are fast you will be fast.”
A fire burned in the Captain’s eye as he said this. Gerald would never forget that look. It was total, unabashed greed. It was the look of someone who wanted something so bad they would do anything, or be anything to get it.
It was in that moment that Gerald vowed he would do his best to get in the Captain’s good-graces, because a man who was willing to do anything for something was a man that could be trusted ─ up to a point.
The fleeting satisfaction from the rush of power was something Gerald knew he would always want. If the Captain could help him get it, then the ends justified the means.
The man standing next to Gerald’s muscles vibrated, but didn’t bulge. The Captain didn’t care. He dropped the heavy log into the unprepared man’s arms. The man collapsed under the weight with a painful cry.
“Practice is the key to success.” The Captain walked away ignoring the man’spainful sobs. “Practice this and you can be great. If you are great, our Lord will give you more. As your prestige rises so will your power.”
***
Gerald brought his weapon down in an overhead swing. He’d perfected the technique cutting wood for the winters back in Massachusetts when he was alive, and had adapted it to crushing skulls on the battlefields of Hell. In this instance, he was aiming for the ground instead of wood, and his weapon of choice was an ultra-dense warhammer instead of an axe. But the effect was the same.
The ground split in front of him. The crack extended about fifty meters and the ground crumbled away. Hundreds of Beelzebub’s monstrosities were pushed into the fissure by the weight of their own army. The attack didn’t last long. Less than a minute passed before the ground sealed itself up.
Gerald could see behind him thanks to his power, so he saw to two creatures trying to sneak up on him. One of those got a bladed wingtip through the throat and the other was swatted halfway to the horizon by a backward swing of the warhammer.
Gerald jumped into the air and flapped his wings to gain elevation. Once he was high enough he surveyed the battle.
The situation was not good.
The airborne regiment that had flown into the enemy air support’s flank was all dead. Gerald had found the dual swords of the regimental commander and used them to dispatch a second enemy knight and absorb that creatures remaining power. General Icilius was executing his plan flawlessly, but it wouldn’t be enough. A wall of artillery explosions hammered the enemy horde about a third of the way deep into their formation. The shield-wall was fighting savagely with the front third and slowly advancing, but the amount of bodies they were leaving behind showed the high price the legions were paying.
A small, flying blur collided with Gerald knocking him toward the ground. It was scaly, slick and all teeth and claws. It crawled all over Gerald’s massive torso trying to bite or scrape at his flesh. All it did was uselessly scratch against Infernal Iron. Finally, Gerald got his hand around the creature’s neck and squeezed until the things head popped off.
Gerald used more power to heighten his perception of time. The battle slowed to a crawl, as he turned to survey it. Thankfully, he’d taken the time because another one of the critters was flying in slow motion toward him. With a thought Gerald enhanced his vision and saw another three following farther back. He traced the trajectory back to its origin and smiled.
Gerald let go of his enhanced perception and dodged left. The flying critter rocketed past him and straight into the fiery explosions of the artillery wall. Gerald ignored the things shriek and shot toward his goal. In the back section of the lines, situated around a number of large soldiers, firing the little creatures at him was the enemy General.
Gerald could tell it was him by the blatant ostentatiousness of the outfit. The patchwork creature had an overlarge man’s head on top of what looked like a hippopotamus’ body with stubby ostrich legs. He was wearing a cloak of multi-colored feathers larger and broader than the first knight Gerald slew. There was no mistaking the thing as anything but a General.
And the General saw Gerald coming.
With a thought, and influx of power, Gerald’s weapon became his trusty molecularly-honed spear again. He crashed into the General’s guard impaling the first creature through the throat. The thing gave a death-squawk as Gerald rolled and came up on one knee. He spun three-hundred and sixty degrees, slicking through unarmored thighs and knees with ease. Half the guards went down unable to move while the other half gushed blood.
Gerald ducked under the swing of a sword, pulled a dagger from his belt, and tossed it at the offender. The dagger passed through the swordsmen’s groin and imbedded itself into the ground. The swordsmen wouldn’t be getting up again anytime soon. Gerald used his own spear to thrust, hack, parry, and bludgeon his way toward the enemy general.
More of the little creatures tried to overwhelm him, but Gerald unleashed a torrent of flame from his mouth. Whatever the slimy part of the creatures was it was combustible. A dozen of the annoying beings exploded with enough force to kill a few of the nearby guards.
Soon there were only a few guards and the general left. The guards charged Gerald together, coordinating their attacks and doing their best to stop him. But Gerald was an Infernal Knight for a reason, and one by one the guards lost their heads or other important body parts.
As the last guard fell Gerald turned toward the general and…
…the next thing Gerald knew he was regaining consciousness. He shook his head and looked around. He was at the bottom of a large furrow. Dozens of bodies cushioned him, and by the scent and sticky sensation most were leaking flesh-bags whose internal skeletal structure had been reduced to powder.
The monstrous leader stood tall with what passed for a sickening grin on his ashen colored face. Gerald hadn’t realized it before but only one of the arms on the creature’s body was a normal human arm. It looked miniscule and unusable on the thing’s bulky torso, but now Gerald saw it as the ruse it was. The General’s other arm was larger, considerably stronger, and ended in a fist the size of a horse-drawn carriage.
A single punch
from that arm had knocked Gerald out cold. It was only for a few seconds, but Gerald couldn’t let that happen again. The possibility of drowning in the enemy horde was a real possibility.
Gerald charged back at the bulbous enemy General and swung at his torso on the side opposite from his powerful arm. The creature danced backward much more nimbly that something its size should ever be capable of, but not fast enough. Gerald’s blade cut deep and blood splattered the ground.
It only oozed for a second before it stitched itself closed, and the general’s face twisted into a superior sneer. Then it attacked.
Gerald barely got out of the way of the fist. It struck nothing but air, but the power of the blow continued long after the physical appendage ended. Several ranks in front of the General were flattened by the after-force of the strike.
Gerald dived under it as the General tried to backhand him and dug a shallow furrow as a result.
As the huge hand passed overhead Gerald jabbed it with poisoned spikes from his gauntlet. The General let out a roar of pain and stumbled backward. The black spider web of poison started to crawl across his massive palm, but it didn’t make it far.
He realized his mistake a moment too late.
The pressure wave from the General’s punch washed over Gerald and sent him spinning away head over ass. He extended his wings fully to stop his tumble hundreds of meters from his target, and beat them powerfully into a dive and regain the momentum of the attack.
Seere’s legions would be turned to ash within the hour if he failed.
Gerald knew exactly what he needed to do.
He dodged the waves of pressure, or powered through them, as he closed on the enemy General’s position. He landed with a loud THUD, cracking the ground again, and throwing the massive leader off balance. Those stubby legs weren’t well made for fighting a maneuverable opponent.
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