Otherworld Soldiers- Rise of the Apocalypse

by Fox Lancet

  Nefarion curled his lip in disgust at the thought. “Of course, our enemy is not without intelligence. They knew it would take any survivor that much longer to report to me, luckily you have determination and strength.” He sat down on his stone throne. “We must make the journey back as soon as I speak with The Scribe and send the Flestchers.”

  The Flestchers were demonic messengers, quick and built close to the ground; fitting easily into cracks and crevices, they were ideal for avoiding detection by enemies. They had upper body strength that could pull them along the ground quickly and up steep cliffs. Their small back legs protruded from the sides of their bodies and were muscular, assisting their movements in long pushes to compensate the reach of the arms that pulled them. If they could stand on their legs, they would be as tall as the typical Demon: eight feet or more. Overall, they were fast and could maneuver skillfully--out of sight if necessary.

  One difficulty with the creatures was that they had no discernible language, but they seemed content in the presence of Demons. It was directing them that proved problematic. Pointing in any certain direction had been the best result. They may not have approached it in a straight line but they would go in that direction until reaching another fortress. If the guiding finger was off by even a mile the Flestcher would return moons later without having delivered the message. At the distance the Demon Legions were from one another, it happened often. However, the older Flestchers now knew most of the other fortresses well and when pointed in their general vicinities, knew where to go.

  Nefarion stood after his short rest. “Go see Aisleen and get your wrist fully healed in addition to a quick reprieve for your weakened body.” Nefarion did not look at Calious as he spoke, rather studied the floor as he contemplated his next move. Calious grimaced at the reference to weakness, but promptly turned away to head to a higher level of the fortress. “Come see me in the Fletchers’ chambers as soon as you are recovered, we will head back with more troops,” Nefarion growled after Calious, who paused in his steps until Nefarion was done speaking.

  “Yes, Lord,” he affirmed before exiting the throne room.

  Calious despised Aisleen. She was a female Seraph who had betrayed her race. He did not trust her, though Nefarion did; otherwise she would not have been housed in the fortress.

  Female Seraphs differed from their male counterparts. They were taller, though just as slender. Their skin was white as well, but with a light glitter. Their eyes were just as large with the same gray-blue that was often obscured by the luster they often emitted. Occasionally a stronger Seraph female would sprout wings, which was rare and apparent in the case of Aisleen, who was a powerful healer. Many of the females of their species had the capacity to heal, but most were unwilling to let the magic grow because with it came the urge for power and destruction. Hence the reason Aisleen had found her way to the Demons’ lair.

  Seraphs and Demons conjectured that the response to healing was due to natural balance; with healing there must be devastation. Often, when female Seraphs began showing signs of remolding characteristics after healings, they were executed. Most female Seraphs refused to use any healing magics for fear of death, and they did not want to be drawn into darkness.

  Aisleen’s power had grown in the span of a few moon-ascends during a battle of great proportion. No one had time to notice how many healings she had performed before her inner self had transcended; she had almost immediately become deceitful and clever without any of the earlier, more telling signs of aggression and short temper.

  Shortly after the end of the battle, before Aisleen had fled to the Demon fortress, she massacred nearly twenty Seraph warriors and four other intermediate healers who practiced sparingly and with discipline. She had arrived at the gates of the fortress dripping from head to toe in blue blood, a smile of accomplishment on her face, and the heads of six Seraphs in her hands. She had requested Nefarion’s presence and refused an explanation until then. Seeing her macabre appearance and the evidence of her slayings, Nefarion was pleased to let the enemy traitor in. She was now and had been the Demon healer for decades, and for her services, she was allowed into battle or to assist in the torture of captives.

  When Calious entered the higher atrium, found just below the lookout peak, Aisleen’s back was to the entrance and she was perched on top of a table, over a witch’s headless corpse. She was needling at it with small, slick instruments. He bared his teeth at her back; he found her repulsive.

  “Hello, Calious,” she acknowledged his silent presence without looking up from her work.

  “Aisleen,” he managed through clenched teeth. She stood smoothly, her feet on either side of the corpse. She twisted at her tiny waist and surveyed Calious over her seemingly fragile, white shoulder. Her faded blue hair brushed past her angled shoulders and her skin glistened. Dead-blue eyes assessed what needed to be done.

  “Severed hand, many moon-ascends old, and severe physical exhaustion.” She lifted a foot and dropped elegantly down from the table. “Am I missing anything?” She approached him. When she was in arm’s-length, Calious stepped back. A smile grew on her face. Where a male Seraph would come barely to his chest, she stood to his shoulders. Regardless, she was a Seraph and that is what put Calious at unease.

  “You must trust me or we will never get anything done.” Her voice was sweet and clean; strange to hear the usually guttural Demon language.

  “I need to do no such thing.” His eyes glittered deep carmine, not yet purple. “Though Nefarion does, I do not have to. I will always be wary of you, enemy.”

  Aisleen laughed a beautiful open laugh that made Calious growl.

  “Well then, be comforted that he does trust me. If I killed you, I would have to answer to his wrath and that is something I will never seek, Calious,” she said after she finished laughing.

  “He is the only reason I am here. I would never come to see you of my own accord unless it was to kill you, which I would not do without valid reason to avoid that same wrath.”

  “See there, we have something in common.” She clasped her long delicate fingers together and held them to her chest in a gesture of adoration as she continued to smile. Calious worked his jaw.

  “Let us get this done. Your company is making me ill.” He sat down on a nearby, empty table. Her eyes stayed fixed on his as she placed her skinny fingers on his thighs, causing him to shudder. A strange sensation pulsed from her into his flesh. His teeth clenched uncontrollably.

  “No one has ever told you how I must relieve debilitating exhaustion?”

  Calious’s eyes snapped from her hands to her eyes. “I never care to be reminded of your presence in this fortress, so no, I know nothing of your doings here.”

  A smile so subtle it was hard to discern crept across her lavender lips. She averted her eyes.

  “Perhaps I should just do it without telling you, for if I speak it first, you may decline.” Her eyes bored into his to determine whether he understood what she was getting at. His lip curled, but he avoided assuming any conclusion.

  “Speak it, Seraph witch,” he growled through clenched fangs.

  Aisleen took a deep breath and two steps back. “I must engage you in soul braiding.” Before the last word even finished from her mouth, Calious was up, his eyes purple with rage.

  “Liar,” he roared, knocking nearby instruments from a stone countertop with both his claws. He roared wordlessly as his fatigued muscles forced him to his knees. Aisleen watched patiently with a stiff pose, a finger on her lips.

  After a few moments of silence, she whispered, “I do not lie, Demon.”

  Calious braced his upper body off the ground with his arms. He shook his horned head at the stone floor.

  “How can Nefarion approve of this?”

  “Your Lord approves of what must be done to see things are accomplished as needed. It is not my choice; it is the way the magics of my body are designed.” She crouched down, but made no attempt to move near him. “It does nothing but
revive your strength. It will not contaminate you or harm your Demon soul in any way. You must remember, I am a corrupt soul. I am no longer Seraph inside.” Calious lifted his head slightly and looked at her from under his pierced, hairless brows. The deep color of his eyes was receding. Aisleen cocked her head at him, her blue hair brushing the ground.

  “It will take me as many moon-ascends as it took me to get here, to return to my full strength again and Lord Nefarion wishes to leave before the next moon-descent.”

  “It is true.” She reached her hand out to him, palm up. His body swelled as he drew a long, deep breath before taking her hand. If he wanted into his Lord’s high command, he must endure all pain and hatred.

  Aisleen led him to the empty table and motioned for him to lay down. He did so rigidly. An uncontrollable rumble vibrated in his chest at his discomfort. She mounted the table and straddled his width with some effort then looked down at him through the curtains of hair dangling on either side of her oval face. Her eyes began to glow, the blue disappearing with the new light. Calious closed his eyes and opened his guarded spirit just enough to let her soul slip in.

  There would be nothing to see in the action, but only intense feelings of oneself being invaded. He felt her fingers slide up his shoulders and follow them to his neck, to his head.

  A sensation he could only imagine was that of a Seraph’s soul preparing to intertwine with his emanated from her skin, much different than that of a Succubus. He could feel it warming from her chest as she closed the distance between their bodies. Calious sucked in a harsh breath when there was no space left between them and their souls were locked in the braid. All physical surroundings ceased to be and the mind cleared, a blank canvas demanding all focus on the pleasure being dealt within.

  It was the reason for his earlier rage: the ecstasy that came with braiding was being shared with his enemy. The hazy thought did nothing to dull the alluring will of the braid. There was a humming in his ears and a pulsing throughout his entire body. He had the distant awareness of his arms wrapping around Aisleen, clenching her ever tighter to him. She let out a whispered moan as his strength pressed against her. The sound was clear, for her lips were settled next to his ear, her jaw resting on his shoulder. When her lips brushed them to utter the short assent, his muscles tensed.

  He heard himself snarl ferociously when a wave of increasing pleasure undulated through his body and Aisleen responded with a more evident cry of enjoyment when the same spark flushed through her. Both their hearts pounded rapidly, and as her breath sped and shortened, his stretched and deepened.

  Time was of no matter, but when the proper amount passed, Calious’ eyes shot open. He roared louder than before and flung his arms out. The red of his eyes were bright enough to light the walls about them, had the room not already been lit by candlelight.

  Aisleen was sitting up again, her eyes drowsy and dead-blue. She peered down at him through her heavy lids. After a moment of collecting her focus, she excused herself and removed her body from his lap. Calious stared at the dark ceiling, his eyes fading back to their low humming red, then to black, allowing the candle flame to light his surroundings. He turned over on his side, still overcome with a release beyond his comprehension.

  The Seraph disappeared out of the candle light. She spoke from the shadows. “We still must attend your wrist.” Her voice was lower than when he had first arrived. “That is taken care of in a different way.” Calious shut his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, she had returned, seeming melancholy. He sat up, throwing his legs off the table.

  “Let us be on with it then. I wish not to keep Lord Nefarion.” He held out his partially healed wrist. Energy pumped through him as if he had just woken into a new life and the energy of his body had not once been expended.

  * * *

  The room was dark, disrupted only by a small candle’s flame. Invisible as it was, it was apparent the room was compact, the feel of the walls close in the darkness, breath bouncing back quickly. The candle’s flame revealed only a hood-shrouded figure poised over a wooden desk with a pile of blank sheets of parchment, a hollowed needle, and a tiny well of dark blood. A veined, wart-covered hand protruded from the ragged, over-sized garb worn by The Scribe. Nefarion was seated across from him in the darkness, apparent only by his radiant eyes.

  “I need you to make seven duplicates of this message.” Nefarion’s guttural voice shifted the stifling air. The Scribe bowed his head once and dipped his hollowed writing implement into the well.

  “To all Demon Legions: Nefarion, Lord of The First, sends this message:

  An alternate existence gate has been unveiled. At present, The First Elite are searching the alternate plane for the control element of the gate. The mission has been compromised by my nemesis, the Seraph. I do not seek aid; I merely would like to offer an invitation in the conquering of a new world to spread Demon sovereignty. Now, I am joining my warriors in an attempt to disband my enemy and take ownership of the key. I will see you all on the other side.”

  Nefarion stood from the cold rock, signed the message, and enclosed the gate’s location. “Seven more of those, then deliver them to the Flestchers’ chambers. I will sign the rest there.” The Scribe bowed his head once more before Nefarion took his leave.

  He walked slowly down the steps, caught endlessly in his own thoughts of what was to ensue. When he heard of Calious’s arrival at the break of the sun, he had immediately assumed the return of Hunter and Syler, or at least a message. That thought had been too good and he should have recognized its impossibility, it was far too soon for their return. And when he had seen the state of Calious, he knew that recent affairs were not what he had hoped or anticipated.

  Nefarion stepped into a lit cavern barren of life. Nothing was known of what was beyond the gate; to plan beyond that point was impossible and ambiguous: a fact that made him anxious. He clenched his claws and crossed the quiet cavern to descend another staircase hidden behind the wall.

  The sentinels he planned to leave at the gate this time would be substantial. He planned to cross alone and contact Hunter and Syler, but it was unknown what or how many creatures had passed the threshold during Demon absence. The next staircase was steep and cut deep into the mountain. He continued on, shaking his head. So much uncertainty and blindness lay ahead.

  When Nefarion reached The Messengers’ chambers, Calious was already waiting. His black form was relaxed and his toned muscles were more defined. He was seated on a stone slab, leaning against the wall with his eyes shut. A Flestcher’s large head rested on his lap; it slept soundly, its breath slow and deep.

  “Aisleen was rather efficient with you,” Nefarion spoke from his position at the entrance.

  Calious’s eyes opened and he regarded Nefarion. “She was.” He sat up. The Flestcher lifted its head groggily, its yellow eyes slitting open.

  “I am surprised. I thought it would take you some time to accept her touch. Given the extent of your exhaustion, I expected at least one full passing before she could revive you.” Nefarion took a harness from the wall.

  “It was a moment before I was able to accept her offering, but I knew matters at hand were more pressing than my hatred for the Seraph. Her healing powers are like nothing I have ever experienced. I feel better than after any natural rest I have ever taken.” Calious put his claw out to take the harness from Nefarion. “I have dressed seven Flestchers; this is the last, I will finish.” Nefarion studied Calious skeptically before handing over the harness.

  “Very quickly,” he said quietly.

  Calious nodded once. “I harnessed the most skilled messengers to ensure swift distribution.” Nefarion watched as Calious slid the black leather over the Flestcher’s large, scaled arms before strapping it down tightly at the chest.

  “Good, I shall see a trio of riders with each. I want them undisrupted through this realm.”

  “A wise decision, as always, Lord,” Calious replied, standing.

  �
��The Scribe will be some time yet. Let us call forth the eight trios and the new gate sentinels.” He turned without awaiting a response. Calious had none and followed his Lord up the steep and narrow stair.

  Nefarion had already sent word for the entire legion of The First, save the guards and watchers, to gather in the vast entrance hall. And there the loyal mass waited. Hundreds of Demons stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, from the steps-to-nowhere to the mouth of the lair. Calious stood alone on the steps at his Lord’s side, feeling powerful without the shadows of Hunter and Syler. Nefarion announced the names of each trio to escort the Flestchers from their realm. Each Demon accepted his task with pride and parted to the Flestchers’ chambers directly.

  The First Demon Legion was separated by skill and experience through regiment names, all appointed and assigned by Nefarion. He kept a close eye during battles, and listened to leading Demons and what they witnessed of lower Demons strengths. There were nineteen troops that made up the First Legion. None made up of any particular number of warriors. Calious had been part of the Apathy regiment; the highest troop below Nefarion and his two Elite. It had consisted of himself and seventeen others—one of the smallest troops in the legion. They had been the troop assigned to the gate when the rest of the army had returned to the fortress. His regiment was now either slaughtered or currently pursuing Seraphs in the otherworld.

  Calious was a bit skeptical when Nefarion called for his top thirteen troops, leaving only five of the lowliest Demon troops to stand with the fortress in their absence. As if feeling Calious’s doubt, Nefarion glanced at him sidelong before explaining his actions, which he did not often do.

  “This may seem drastic to many of you, but you need understand at this point in time that the Seraphs are more concerned with our interest in the gate and its control. The fortress is the least of our worries as well as the least of theirs.” Nefarion took a deep breath. “When we arrive I plan to cross alone until I am able to extract Hunter and Syler. By that time they should either have the key or at least a great deal of information that will allow us to move forward with a clear intent. Having thirteen regiments outside the gate should deter any further interruption in this mission.” He finished by looking down below the staircase to validate that the hundreds of steeds were being dispensed. Once verified, he turned back to his legion.