Enemy of the Inferno (Disgardium Book #8): LitRPG Series

by Dan Sugralinov

  “At ease, rookie!” the succubus chuckled. “No need to look for Nisrok. He’s right there!”

  She pointed a clawed finger at the black giant towering over the structures.

  “That’s Prefect Nisrok, rookie Hakkar!” She started laughing harder. “As you can see, he stands out! Where are you from?”

  “Tiefling Nest. What about you?”

  “Shinju. Know where that is?”

  “Nope.” I shook my head.

  “A real country bumpkin, huh? Shinju is a big city. Not like the Ruby City, but still big. And we have almost no tieflings.”

  We spoke a little longer. As it turned out, Lerra had passed a far harsher selection than mine. Shinju had over a hundred volunteers, and it took three recruiters at once to preside over the draft. Forty-two demons remained from a hundred. All of them, including the aggressive rakshasa and Lerra, were now hanging out together.

  “Alright, see you later!” the succubus said, stroking my cheek with the tip of her tail and heading back to her people. She turned back halfway. “Oh, I almost forgot. Prefect Nisrok himself is unlikely to talk to you. His assistant Voley is always nearby, talk to him. He’s a bird.”

  Was that a racial trait of theirs? Nega, too, was always trying to either hug me or stroke me with her tail. I spent the whole conversation trying to keep my eyes pinned on Lerra’s beautiful green ones full of dancing golden sparks; they kept wanting to drift down to her perfect pert breasts, and then I lost my train of thought.

  The variety of the demonic races stunned my imagination, but Nisrok and his helper Voley were something else again.

  Prefect Nisrok, who had earned two orange stars, was of the doomtanks. A walking mountain. No, more like a sixty-foot-tall turtle with no shell, standing on its hind legs. My humblest estimations put him at twenty tons, and his tiny, toothy head wreathed in veiny muscles looked more like a wart than a body part. His left arm ended in a natural spike, a blade of demonic steel running along its length. As if that weren’t enough, lava-filled channels ran along the doomtank’s entire body, and I felt sure he could make that lava rain down on his foes.

  His helper Voley, bearing one orange star, looked like a medieval plague doctor from a distance, but as I got closer I realized he was one of the jigoku’kenku people. I had heard of these humanoid birds whose sparse tribes hid in the distant mountainous regions of Disgardium, but I’d never met them. This Voley clearly had some of them in his bloodline.

  He was about the height of my tiefling. Give a huge raven hot coals for eyes, and it will look roughly like Voley.

  “Recruit Hakkar reporting for duty! Glory to the Dominion!” I barked, looking at Nisrok and glancing at Voley out of the corner of my eye.

  I had no clue if that was the right thing to say; I have no army experience at all, and even if I had, who knew if Belial’s army worked anything like the ones in my world?

  Nisrok ignored me, but his helper condescended to answer:

  “Who recruited you, tiefling?” he said in a slow, squawking voice.

  “Prefect Sargatanas, Master Voley!”

  “Forget the masters, recruit,” the jigoku’kenku said, waving a wing. “All we who serve the glory of the Dominion are brothers and sisters. Address me thusly: Prefect Nisrok’s Assistant Voley.”

  This army clearly liked to complicate as much as possible. “Master Voley” was at least half the length. I kept that to myself and just nodded:

  “Got it.”

  “Not ‘got it,’ but ‘yes sir,’ recruit!”

  “Yes sir, recruit!”

  The joke either didn’t land or Voley didn’t get it. He gave a sad sigh:

  “Dear me… I had heard that tieflings were smart, but you clearly aren’t the sharpest bird in the flock.”

  “Yes sir, Prefect Nisrok’s Assistant Voley!”

  “Better,” the jigoku’kenku chuckled. “So you’re from the outskirts? One white star? Ooft…”

  “Is something wrong, Prefect Nisrok’s Assistant Voley?”

  “I fear the Dominion is dying if Sargatanas did not turn down meat such as yours. Oh, well – the challenge will reveal all. If you survive them, then you’ll be glad you came here. As we say back home: shame not those who are weak, their chao will still go to the strongest beak.”

  “Yes sir!” I barked, just in case. “What is the challenge, Prefect Nisrok’s Assistant Voley?”

  Voley rolled his eyes, squawked:

  “All recruits must undergo a trial by battle before they join the legion. You will fight with the Thirteenth Cohort of the Twelfth Legion. Glory to the Dominion! If you achieve victory, you will cease to be fleshless spirits and will be entered into the Legion’s register. Understood?”

  “Yes sir, Prefect Nisrok’s Assistant Voley!”

  “Then heed my command! You shall be at the disposal of Centurion Citri of the Thirteenth Cohort. Go to the armory and get your equipment, then find Citri. And hurry! The challenges will soon begin, and Citri does not like it when his fresh meat is late. You know what he does with it then?”

  “No sir, Prefect Nisrok’s Assistant Voley!”

  “He eats it alive,” he laughed. “About face! Head northwest! On the double!”

  I ran to the armory, the hoarse squawk still ringing in my ears for a long time to come.

  Chapter 16. Trial By Combat

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE PARAGRAPH on the Inferno in the in-game encyclopedia: A non-player realm inhabited by demons… It was pointless looking there for anything useful such as the structure of the army I was going to be serving in. Not for long, I hoped – I’d wait till the first vacation in Ruby City, then I could say goodbye to my career in the Legion.

  I was lucky enough to run into six other newcomers on the way to the armory – just as clueless as I was, – and trudged along behind them, listening in on their conversations. Those recruits were sticking together: an imp, three devils, a demon and a satyr. The imp was something of an expert in the ways of the army, and his tales told me how the Dominion’s army organized itself. Despite the fact that they used ancient Roman names, the system was different.

  The Princes each had thirteen legions, which I already learned at the selection. Each legion had thirteen cohorts numbering six hundred and sixty-six demons each, save the last one, the thirteenth, the ‘fresh meat’ cohort, whose numbers fluctuated depending on the recruiters’ efforts.

  That was all. None of the maniples, phalanxes or centuries I heard about when we studied the armies of Ancient Rome in school.

  Each demonic cohort was led by a centurion, and he was aided by an optio of his choice, usually the strongest demon in the cohort. They also had the decani – something like sergeants, they commanded groups of around thirteen demons on average. Because our cohort always consisted of new recruits, there were no decani in it – they were promoted based on trial by battle.

  After learning all this thanks to the know-it-all imp, I went to get some equipment.

  The demon Ramondarkh, quartermaster of the Thirteenth Legion’s armory, looked like a character straight out of the Talmud: red, with brown half-moon horns rippling with flame, and legs with knees bent backwards. Instead of hooves, he had paws with retracting claws.

  The quartermaster gave me my ‘equipment’ – ordinary armor made from the hide of an unknown beast: a form-fitting sleeveless jacket, but with plates of bone sewn in; a long cloak with vertical black and white stripes all across the back (must be the colors of the Thirteenth Legion or Belial’s Dominion) and metal armguards. The gear had no bonuses, not counting its defensive stats.

  Three items in total. Footwear wasn’t popular in this world due to the prevalence of hooves, and horns and tails made helmets and pants awkward.

  “Try it on!” the armorer demanded.

  I equipped the legion’s armor over my Cold-Blooded Punisher, until now masked as Hakkar’s scruffy skirt-pants and vest.

  Casting an appraising glance at me, Ramondarkh nodded:

&
nbsp; “Fits like a glove. What do you fight with, recruit?”

  “My fists.”

  “Sure, but in battle? All recruits are recommended to fight with a spear, since nobody will let you wave a sword around in serious battles. If you want to stand in the back row, jab a stick and gain experience – there’s nothing better than a spear.” The demon cocked his head, chuckled. “What do you say?”

  “Alright, give me the spear,” I shrugged. Since I’d decided not to stand out, I’d better stick to the norm. “I guess that’ll be safer, right?”

  “That’s right!” the demon grinned, baring sharp teeth and breathing out a wisp of flame. A fifteen-foot pike appeared in his hands. “Glory to the Dominion, recruit!”

  “Glory!” I shook the pole, making as if amazed at the legion’s generosity.

  The tip of the pike flickered with black flame that ran down the wooden haft and sank into my hands. I looked at the weapon’s stats:

  Flimsy Demonic Pike

  Common spear.

  Personal item.

  Damage: 6–9.

  Item cannot be given away, lost or stolen…

  The weapon was so wretched that I doubted I could have sold it to a single vendor even in the sandbox of Tristad. Whatever – in my hands, it would be like a legendary weapon.

  I walked out of the armory, looked around. Voley’s first quest was complete. The next was to find Centurion Citri, of the Thirteenth Cohort. Since rakshasa Karakapanka and succubus Lerra would surely also be joining the ‘fresh meat’ cohort, I went back to them.

  “Oh, Hakkar!” The succubus looked at my weapon and laughed. “A Flimsy Demonic Pike? Come on, tiefling! That Ramondarkh tried to foist this off on every one of us, but we all refused.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a piece of crap, not a weapon!” Lerra said, spitting. The spittle hit the ground and started smoking. “But that’s not the main thing. The pike is carried by the instiga, and that means certain death.”

  It seemed that damn armorer had set this poor tiefling up. I started showering the succubus with questions:

  “Instiga? What’s that? And why? Why ‘certain death’?”

  “It’s the instiga!” Lerra looked at me strangely, her eyes widening. “Where’d you say you’re from? Hey guys, come see this weird tiefling we’ve got! He doesn’t know who the instiga is!”

  The chattering demons from Shinju fell silent a moment, surrounded me and the succubus. Not counting the constant monotonous background noise of the camp, dead silence hung over us.

  “Tiefling?” one of the demons pointed at me, glancing at Lerra. He was the largest and strongest in the group. Seven white stars gleamed on his horn. “This one?”

  “Yeah, this tiefling,” she nodded.

  “He doesn’t know about the instiga?” The demon’s lips curled into a smile.

  “That’s right.”

  “So Ramondarkh gave him the flimsy pike?”

  “Yep,” Lerra nodded, smirking widely.

  And then laughter suddenly broke out, so loud that I went deaf for a moment. The demons laughed uproariously, slapping their thighs, but they looked at me with sympathy. At least, most of them did – Karakapanka the rakshasa just gloated, pointing at me with all four of his hands.

  “Where are you from, fool?” asked a heavyset seven-star demon. His name was Abducius.

  “Tiefling Nest, but I’m no fool,” I answered.

  “You see this?” Abducius pointed at his horn. “Seven stars! And even I wouldn’t dare take the pike.”

  “Stars aren’t everything. If you’re a coward, then you’ll stay one even with a red star, Abducius,” I answered.

  A pause. “Did you just call me a coward?” the demon asked slowly. The others fell silent, their eyes burning into me.

  “I said ‘if.’ Do you know what that means, big guy?”

  “Call you a coward he did, Ab,” Karakapanka the rakshasa said, pouring fuel on the flames. “Twice a fool he is!”

  “Shut your mouth!” Lerra said, eyes flashing. She pushed the rakshasa away, shouldered Abducius aside and pressed against me. “A word, recruit Hakkar.”

  “Lerra?” the big demon said in confusion. “The stinkling offended me! Let him respond!”

  “He didn’t offend you, you offended yourself. Anyway, the kid might only have a couple of hours left to live. At least let him learn why. Don’t you see he’s from the sticks?” She took me by the arm, led me away and asked: “Who’s your chief where you’re from?”

  “Back in my hometown? Elder Shverk.”

  “How many stars?”

  “Two yellow.”

  Stopping sharply, she turned back to the others.

  “You all hear that? Their chief has two yellow stars! Like I said, it’s the middle of nowhere! It’s clear this tiefling doesn’t know a damn thing!”

  Lerra led me decisively off to one side and took me around the corner of a building. She must have decided to enlighten the tiefling from the sticks, and I didn’t object.

  She led me into an alleyway where four horned and scaled beasts like three-headed unicorns were tied up, peacefully chewing on some brown gloop from a trough on one wall. Stroking one of them on the back with her tail, Lerra purred:

  “All right, Hakkar. Soon, a trial by battle will start for the legion’s recruits. Our cohort of fresh meat will go up against the recruits of the Twelfth Legion. You know that much at least, right?”

  “Yeah, Voley told me that. But what’s the problem with the pike? Who’s the instiga?”

  “Before the battle, three instigas from each cohort walk out. The first of ours will fight with the first of theirs. If he wins, he fights the second, and then the third.”

  “Why?”

  “To attract Chaos. When one carrier of chao fights another, Chaos always takes note. If he sees a battle brewing, with lots of streams of chao to be lost, gained and scattered, then he takes special interest and follows the fight, supporting one side or the other. Chaos is always on someone’s side. He finds it more fun that way.”

  “And why do we want his attention?”

  “The side with at least one instiga left standing gets Chaotic Frenzy for the duration of the battle – each of the instiga’s comrades gains another star, and its color is the highest he already possesses.”

  “Alright. But why is it ‘certain death’?”

  “You really are from the sticks!” Lerra exclaimed helplessly. “I told you, the instigas draw the attention of Chaos! And he never gives out anything for free, he always takes something in exchange! An emissary will appear and attack the last surviving instiga.” In answer to my look of confusion, the succubus sighed and explained: “Emissaries of Chaos are protodemons. Real demons, not transformed ones like our peoples.”

  Now I realized why Rion Staffa had been marked as an ‘untransformed demon.’ It must be some intermediary state between an ordinary mortal and a demon of the Inferno.

  “Can the emissaries not be defeated?”

  “They can, and in the Great Game the instigas are usually the strongest demons. They can take down the protodemon and send him back. And sooo much chao drops from the emissary!” Lerra licked her lips and her face turned dreamy. “But you… I’d be amazed if you could take down the weakest enemy instiga, let alone the protodemon.”

  After measuring me up with a glance full of equal parts scorn and pity, Lerra returned to her countrymen. I walked around the building, ran into an imp recruit who told me where I could find Citri, and went off in search.

  Centurion Citri turned out to be a demon. From what I learned, Prefect Nisrok, or rather his helper Voley, commanded the cohort outside of battle, and the Centurion – during battle. And that was strange, because the doomtank could surely trample a dozen demons like Citri, who himself was gigantic and matched Despot in his size, furnace mouth and halberd horns. His arms weren’t quite as large, and the bony spines on them hadn’t yet formed into full-fledged weapons.


  It looked like I’d come at a bad time – the Centurion was resting and nursing a small barrel. He looked tired. I felt it more than saw it; it was hard to tell the demon’s mood from his dispassionate face. “Recruit Hakkar, reporting for duty to serve the glory of the Dominion!” I said. He didn’t so much as look at me, just lazily spoke out of the corner of his mouth, showing a glimpse of a powerful fang:

  “Await the trials, recruit Hakkar. When the sky burns blue, that is your signal that the foe has arrived on the battlefield. Ensure that you are not late! I consider lateness desertion, and I punish it strictly!”