The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  Lueke put on a mask of indifference. "Lucifer, eh?"

  "Yes, my lord has endowed me with great gifts, one of which I recently discovered to be that I can maintain this form in the daytime." his presence in that form rather substantiated his words. He was a true servant of Lucifer.

  "So...You come from Lucifer, then?" Lueke was not ready to commit to anything, especially in front of his troops.

  "Yes, which is why I know what that amulet around your neck means, though I would never tell. This is also why I am your humble servant." Dimitrious bowed low.

  "And why is that?" Luke asked.

  "Because it is clear to me that you, and you alone, are Lucifer's champion." Dimitrious answered.

  A fierce grin slashed along Lueke's face, and even though he was human, the viciousness in his face made him look anything besides. "So, you can stay in this form in the sun, eh?"

  Dimitrious never looked up from his bow. "Yes, sir."

  "Then I want you to go to the camp of our enemies and kill all of their leaders, champions, and any you see as being a threat to me and my Position. You will be my assassin." Lueke's grin was still on his face as he spoke.

  Dimitrious straightened his body and now his smile matched Lueke's. "Yes, sire." He enthusiastically exclaimed and began to run off. When he was far enough away, one word escaped his mouth, and he spit it out while at the same time savoring the taste of it. "Demenn."

  * * *

  Demenn was sitting on the cot that was stuck to the side of his tent. Well, it was not exactly his tent, but whoever it had belonged to had not claimed it, and it had been assigned to Demenn, so he figured he would stay in it until that person reclaimed it. He felt slightly uncomfortable inside it, as it was far larger than any he had ever owned before. In fact, it seemed almost comical to him at the moment, as his few possessions barely covered a tenth of the spacious pavilion, and the rest of it was completely empty. He wondered what the person who had originally owned it had done with it, and figured that whoever it was had to have been fairly rich if he had been able to completely use the area.

  Before him, on the cot, the Sword of Office lay in front of him, still glowing almost threateningly. He tentatively reached out to touch the blade, but withdrew his hand before even touching it. Turning his hand over, he gingerly flexed his raw fingers. He had not even placed his hand upon the blade, and he was still burned. Deciding against the blade, he next reached out his right hand and firmly grasped the hilt of the weapon. It did not bother with slowly warming up to him, but instantly started the burning pain inside his palm.

  "You are unfit to wield me!" He heard its voice exclaim inside his head, and he knew it was true, but still he kept his grip on the handle. The pain continued to intensify, as did the volume of the voice in his brain, but still he stayed.

  Finally, he released the weapon and slowly brought his hand back. A sigh escaped his lips as the railing noise inside his head faded from him. He knew that this sword was not only the best weapon their armies had for combating the werepyres, but that it was also something of a flag for them as well. It was a symbol of hope and victory in this dark time, and it reminded others that all was not lost. He had to wield it, otherwise many would likely desert out of desperation or despair. Also, and this thought disagreed with him even more, he did not think that he could even kill a werepyre, let alone the leader of them, without a weapon as powerful as this. In fact, without being able to use his Other form, he was forced to wonder if even this would be enough. He really wished that Brand had been able to hold it.

  With these thoughts in mind, he was about to stretch out his hand to grasp the handle of the sword once again, but then he heard light steps outside of his tent. He stopped the movement and tensed. Seeing as it was during the day, nothing should be moving around. Even werepyres could not move around freely in the daytime. He threw his cloak over the sword and grabbed his two knives while trying to get to the entrance of the tent as quietly as possible. Just as he reached it, the tent's flap started to open very slowly. He slipped his smaller knife into his boot and waited.

  When the hand of the intruder was finally visible, Demenn lunged forward, grabbed it with his open hand, and jerked towards himself as hard as possible. Whoever was trying to enter lurched forward, off of his feet, and onto the ground inside the tent. The large hat the person had on toppled to the ground, and the person;s heavy cloak flapped as its owner hit the ground. Demenn gave him no time to recover,either, as he put his knee on the other's back, pulled his head back, and placed his long knife on his throat.

  "Who are you, what are you doing here?" Demenn demanded, and gave a sharp tug on the person's hair in emphasis.

  When the other chuckled slightly, Demenn was caught off guard. "Do you always greet visitors in such a rough fashion Demenn."

  Demenn smiled and stood up, removing his hand, knee, and knife from Varus's throat. "Only when they try to sneak into my tent in the middle of the day."

  Varus got up and dusted off his cloak. "Yea, well, I have good reasons for this intrusions."

  "Oh really? And what would they be?"

  "Well, first there's..." Varus tensed as Demenn had moments before and cocked his head to the side. "Did you hear that."

  Demenn had, and was already back to his original position at the side of the entrance. Once he got there he motioned for Varus to do the same. They took positions on opposite sides of the entrance, and then stood silently, listening. The footsteps, not hidden like Varus's had been, but open, closed upon the tent, stopped in front of it for a moment, and then started again as a figure pushed its way inside. Once it did, Demenn, feeling a strange sense of deja vu, grabbed him and threw him to the ground. Unlike the other, this one spun while falling, kept his large hat on, and landed on his back. Demenn knelt over him, and was about to begin interrogating him when he saw his face and froze. Varus stared back at him from the ground, with a bewildered look on his face.

  "Varus?" Demenn was feeling very confused.

  Varus was about to answer, but then looked past Demenn with a look that turned increasingly to surprise. "Behind you!"

  Demenn spun quickly, pulling his second knife from his boot, and saw the previous "Varus," now unmistakable Dimitrious, launch a knife his way. Demenn dodged to the side, and Dimitrious smirked while shedding his large cloak.

  "Hello again, my dear friend. You have proven yourself to be quite the resilient fighter indeed. There are not many alive or dead that can defeat a general in Lucifer's army single-handedly. And you even did it without changing into your Other form too. Quite a feat."

  "And you seem to be as self-serving as always." Demenn felt good being able to not have to hold his tongue for fear of the consequences. "I assumed you were dead when you were not with us, but now it seems that you were defeated, and are now one of them."

  "An astute and almost accurate observation. Reasoning and fighting skills like yours were a few of the many reasons I once thought that you were Lucifer's champion, but no longer. I have met Lucifer's champion, and I was not defeated, I stayed behind with my demons and waited for him. I now serve him, and you are but a roadblock to our domination."

  "Then I suppose that I will have to be as great a roadblock as I can be." Demenn spoke calmly, but once he finished he flung both of his weapons at Dimitrious with perfect accuracy. Dimitrious only laughed, however, as they passed through him with a trail of mist following them.

  "Foolish Demenn, very foolish."

  He held his hands out and two swords appeared in them as he began to pursue Demenn, who had turned once he had thrown his weapons and was running towards his cot. He only took a few steps, however, when his path was blocked by Varus, who had his sword and buckler on and a determined look on his face. The sight caused another chuckle to emanate from Dimitrious.

  "You may have recently attained first class and your Other form, child, but do not assume that this makes us equals. I have been a first class for millennium. My powers were secon
d only to our rulers then, and now I am beyond even them. I am the ultimate power in this world, and you are nothing!"

  "Right now, I probably am nothing." Varus hoped the bravado in his voice masked his trembling. "But when I kill you and take your heart, I really will be something.

  Dimitrious' only reply was to hiss in fury as he dematerialized the swords in his hands and replaced them with his weapon of choice. Varus had never seen a weapon like it before, and he was not the only one. Dimitrious' weapon was an anomaly among vampire fighting styles, and few had ever seen it. Fewer still had lived through seeing it. It was a long staff, with sword-like blades running along one side of it. The two blades started at the tips of the staff and ran down to almost the middle, where they ended so that there was a place Dimitrious could grip the staff. On one end of the staff was a sharp sickle, which curved back before hooking forward like an exaggerated crescent, and on the other was a curved, "L" blade. The "L" blade was blunt, angular, and fat on the bottom, as reinforcement, and yet the inside was curved and sharp.

  It was a remarkable unique weapon, and one that Dimitrious had made himself and had created his own fighting style to accompany it. Many had thought it foolishness, had laughed at his weapon, and he had enjoyed ripping out their hearts the most after he had defeated them in duels. But that was back in the old days, when he had to battle his way to Lucifer's side as third in command, right behind that bastard Preatias. Back then, duels were fought to the death rather than defeat.

  Many, after seeing the devastating effects of his unconventional weapon and strange fighting style, had either requested his teaching, tried to mimic his weapon and style, or had sought themselves to find some strange weapon to use. He had turned down the first with glee, made sure that the second type failed, and had let the third ones do as they wished.

  Yes, he had slain dozens of first class vampires and werewolves alike, and these two would be no different.

  In the end, it was Varus who made the first move. He ran forward, with his sword and shield held close to him, and his body tilted forward. Dimitrious held his staff in front of him with both hands and waited, a smile of his face. When Varus reached him he shot out his sword as swift as possible, but almost before he began moving, Dimitrious' staff was up and blocking where the sword was. When the weapons clashed, however, the sword tipped back and began to fall. Far too late, Dimitrious saw that Varus had let go of the sword just then, and was spinning. When he came out of the spin, moments later, he rammed the edge of his buckler into Dimitrious' chest, just under the staff, and sent him stumbling back.

  Catching the sword before it hit the ground, Varus continued his attack with a barrage of swipes and stabs, but none of them hit. Dimitrious, though staggering and rather shocked, was still able to work his hands around the space given them to or stop or deflect all of the attacks at him. He stepped back while blocking for a moment, until his feet were firmly planted on the ground, but when he was finally stable, he deflected Varus's attack to the side. Varus, not expecting him to recover so fast, had to shift his head to the side to narrowly avoid decapitation by the L side that came at him in the same movement as the block.

  Even as he dodged, though, he saw the horizontal end of the L swiftly turn vertical, and in another moment, the crescent end chopped down at him. Varus brought his sword up and blocked the attack, but then realized the problem of fighting against a crescent as his sword blocked it inside the circular blade, and the tip was stopped only inches away from his eye. It turned out that Dimitrious was not attacking down with the chop, but rather down and towards himself, which Varus discovered when his sword was yanked down away from him. Remarkably, Varus kept his grip on the weapon, but when he did he wondered if he should have let it go, because he was immediately over extended, and also in the perfect place for the L end of Dimitrious' staff to stab upwards at his chest.

  In a desperate fit of adrenaline, Varus shoved his shield in front of him, and blocked the attack, but without even hesitating, Dimitrious spun to the right and slashed down one last time with the crescent end and stuck it into Varus's back, right behind the shoulder blade. The circular shape of the blade did not lend itself to the straight attack down, and as such the tip stuck only a few inches into him, but that was all Dimitrious wanted. He jerked his hands back viciously, and the blade, after cutting through some flesh like a fishing boat through water, caught on the inside of Varus's shoulder blade and pulling him off of his feet with the suddenness of it. Varus cried out as much from surprise as from the pain, and he was unable to recover before falling onto his face on the ground. He rolled over swiftly, and was just fast enough to scramble away from Dimitrious, who made to pursue, until his way was blocked by Demenn, who carried a shaking Sword of Office in his hands.

  "Away from him, Dimitrious, it is I you want."

  "True," Dimitrious took a casual stance and paced around Demenn a bit. "but now I am interested in this one, and quite angered as well. See, it has been quite a while since any has been able to touch me in combat, let alone in the very first move. He shall pay dearly for that."

  Despite the pain, Demenn tightened his hold on the handle of the sword. "Not while I can stop you."

  "Well, I foresaw possibly having to deal with more than one opponent, which is why I brought some help of my own." Dimitrious pulled a small black box from... somewhere on him, and tossed it on the ground to the side of Demenn. "Come forth." He exclaimed.

  The box lid flew open, and shadows seemed to billow out of it. The shadows expanded like smoke for a moment, but then coalesced into the shapes of twelve shirtless vampires. Well, at least they looked like vampires to Demenn. Their skin was bleach white, and their eyes were red, but there was no light of intelligence in their pupils, only feral ferocity. Instead of just elongated canines, all of their teeth were razor and the size of nails. Their jaws seemed detached from the rest of their faces, and hung down limp and loose. They were armed with blades that had been either strapped to their arms, or perhaps grafted into their skin and bones, Demenn could not tell, exactly. The blades were short, about two feet long, but sturdy, and double edged. Deadly.

  As soon as the twelve of them were formed, they began to surround Demenn, snarling and snapping their strange jaws. They seemed wary of coming too close to him, however, and he could tell that it was because of the sword. Even now, it pulsed with light, as if the presence of so much evil made it giddy with excitement. Each wave from it slightly hurt the skin over his body, and he could not blame the other vampires from keeping their distance, but he knew that it would not last. He also knew that, even if each of them was only about the strength of a third class, he would not be able to survive if they all attacked at once. There was only one way to live through this situation, and he only hoped that he could do it.

  He closed his eyes, shoved his sword into the air, and thought 'light.'

  Even with his eyes closed, he saw only white for half of a second, and he could feel the burning pain that covered his body, but it was nothing unbearable. He heard the beasts cry out in pain as one, and just as he heard the first one, his eyes flashed open, and he was moving. The one right in front of him was still curled over, holding its hands to its face, and was cut down with ease. One slice from above was all it took, and no resistance was offered to his blade, almost as if the flesh divided before his sword even reached it. The creature's blood spewed from the two halves of its torso, and as its skin began to dissolve from contact with the holy blade, its blood flowed over it. The red oozed into the intricate designs in it, and the bright shining was accentuated brilliantly by lines of dark blood in front of it. It was almost like this was its true face.

  The beasts were powerful, though, and the second one was ready for Demenn, even though only being a few feet away. He lashed out with the sword and it, with almost as much speed and skill, blocked the attack with one blade and swung out with the other. As Demenn ducked under the blow, grabbed its wrist, and lopped off its arm, he realized
that these were all somewhere between being second class and first class, which made victory ever farther away. Unobtainable, in fact. Nevertheless, when the creature spat and punched down with its remaining blade, he still stepped close, making its blade pass behind him, and shoved his sword up into its neck and head. Again, the blood flowed down his sword, and it hummed its contentment. 'Two down,' he thought. 'Just ten more. This will be hard.'

  * * *

  'I'm dead.' Varus thought as Dimitrious stalked towards him with his staff held menacingly in one hand.

  "Very good, child, but now you die."

  Varus grunted and tested his shoulder. It still worked, but every movement he made with it sent sharp, biting pain through his body. 'I'm so dead.'

  Dimitrious flipped his weapon into both hands and lead with a slash with the L side. Varus tried to dodge by ducking down forward, but Dimitrious spun to the side and came with an upward strike at Varus's neck with the crescent side like a guillotine from below. Varus stuck his sword out and placed the flat of it on his chin, so that the blade slid off of his and continued up past his head, and was just regaining his balance when Dimitrious flipped the staff over and chopped up with the blunt side. Varus blocked it with his buckler, but then he flipped it again and sent the crescent back around, tearing the shield down and opening Varus. He stabbed forward with the outside edge of the crescent, which was also bladed, and, when Varus twisted to the side and let it pass by, turned it over until it was horizontal and dropped it a bit before hooking it back.