Dancing In The Void

Camael writhed in unimaginable pain on her bed.

Her love, Mephisto, stood guard beside her, nearly crushing her hand as he prayed silently with eyes shut. Behind him loomed the mighty Cassandra, warily looking out the window at the battle that raged on afar. The once cool blue sky was now alight with fire and smog, clouded by death and destruction.

“LADY CASSANDRA!” A soldier burst into the room, heaving and coughing, with dried blood spattered across his armor and hands, matching the color of his helmet. All eyes turned to him, and the man apologized for his rudeness, bowing before his Queen. “My lady, we can not hold the eastern gates. The General had a stroke of brilliance for our soldiers to attack the company head-on in the west, and they managed to push them back. But it was nowhere near enough to dent their onslaught. The eastern gates are still on the verge of collapse.”

Cassandra bowed her head, gnashing her fangs.

“What of Samson?” Mephisto asked, his voice frail with despair.

“The General is holding the main gates. They are overrun, but he is still holding strong.” The soldier turned to the hulking woman, his eyes fearful and begging. “My Lady, I confess, I only know you from myths and fire tales. I do not know what your true strength is, but if those fearful tales are true, we need you on the field, now or never. If the gates are to fall...” His voice trembled.

The beast turned to lock eyes with her queen. Her golden eyes were still stern, and unblinking, but they held a quiet softness, a sadness, unlike she’d ever felt before.

“Go.” Camael responded, her voice quiet and ridden with pain.

Cassandra did not hesitate. A light clicked in her eyes, and with fury she spun in place, charging through the palace windows. The soldier rushed to, full of awe and shock. By the time he reached the balcony, Cassandra had already reached the city streets, and was charging like an untamed bull into the fray. Following his departure, Camael turned to Mephistopheles and hugged him tightly, screaming in agony.

“Mephisto. T-take me to…” She whimpered.

“W-what? Where?” Mephisto cried out, comforting her as well as he could.

“T-to the room down the hallway, please, I beg you.”

“Alright, my love.” Mephisto obliged and gently picked her up in his arms. He rushed to the dark corridor, swallowing his fear as he stepped through the iron gates. Immediately, the circular room lit up with fire. The chamber was surrounded by scorching blue flames between the stone pillars. The air was warm and dry, and the black marble floor was cool to the touch. Mephisto gently set his Queen down in the center of the room. Camael held her lover’s hand tightly in hers as she cried out in pain. Mephisto quickly made a few trips to the queen’s chamber to bring some pillows and towels, but it hardly made her any more comfortable. The time was upon them. Their child was starting to slowly make their way into the world, amidst a bed of blood. Camael’s screams echoed out, again and again through the empty palace.

Baphomet sat atop his iron-plated warhorse, watching the battle unfold from the safe distance of the hill. A smile crept across his lips, the song of death and destruction he had wrought sending a chill of joy coursing down his back. A strange sensation, one he had not felt in several thousand years. A body of flesh and blood had more than just frailty and weakness it seemed. This was a fact the Lord of Hell had forgotten in time. But the sight of his troops as they crashed against the walls of the city and expired, felled by arrow or blade was exhilarating. It was a reminder of all that he had lost, so long ago. At the same time, it was proof of his convictions, of how he was in the right to challenge the will of the gods, and the punishment they wrought upon him: their unending failure. Today it ended. Today he would walk the streets of this accursed city full of sin and strike down the abomination that was their false queen. Baphomet allowed himself to experience the all too mortal sensation of joy at such a prospect.

“Any words yet from the western or eastern battalions?” He asked his shrill-voiced subordinate.

“Yes, my Lord, the western forces request reinforcements. A vanguard stormed from the city and wrecked almost half of the company; they weren’t able to catch them before they hid behind the inner walls. Over in the east, our troops are close to breaking through the gates, but the will of the city endures. It is taking a considerable amount of effort and a great deal of our bravest soldiers.” The underling said.

“What of the main gates?” Baphomet said, unconcerned.

“They are holding strong my Lord. The men are rallied onto their mighty leader and our forces are being too easily repelled.”

“Whoever leads them is bold, and skilled in war… I’ll give him that, but he is a fool. Let’s see how skillful this fool is when he burns along with his city. Unleash the flame trebuchets, and bring the Great Goat for the main gates.” Baphomet said as he kicked his horse and charged down the hill. It was time for him to enter the fray. His army parted as he reached the battlefield, making way for both him and the mighty gatebreaker behind him. His soldiers heaved forth a massive log of wood and iron. Spikes protruded from its side, allowing them a place to carry it, and on top were rows of holes. Dark charcoal rested inside behind iron bars, alight with flame and smoke. The head of this beast was the carving of a goat’s head, its face made of solid metal, and its horns black as obsidian. Baphomet’s army cheered and howled, both at the sight of their master, and the symbol of his power that walked behind him. His generals followed his orders, readying their war machines for the next phase of this siege. Screams, orders, and one hand signal, and a flurry of projectiles shot from the front lines. Flaming stone and rocks blotted out the light of the sun as they crashed into the city from above. The screams of panicked men and women cried out within the city as they fled, trampling over each other. With each flurry of meteoric projectiles, the will of the city seemed to break, and the feral howls of the demon army grew bolder. The Great Goat was positioned on the front lines, and Baphomet raised a sullen finger, pointing at the gates. A blanket of corpses was sown at the base of the walls, and on those corpses the behemothic ram was being carried forward.

“This city is rotten and sinned. Tear it down.” Baphomet called out, and his demons heaved the mighty ram into the wooden gates.

Orders and commands could be heard from behind the gates, as the General ran down to the main entrance level. He and his brave men held the city from being smashed open by the unholy beast and the demon soldiers that heaved it. The gates quaked every time the mighty ram smashed into it, sparks of flame shooting from its eyes and sending a powerful quaking through the walls of the city and the earth beneath it. A hundred soldiers barred the gates, and a hundred more stood at the ready, their spears pointed ahead. Beads of sweat dripped from the brow of every man as they braced themselves for the army that would come crashing at any moment. But among them rode the General on his pale horse, tall and alive with the great halberd in hand. His presence inspired them, emboldened them, and gave them strength.

“Stand your ground men!” Samson shouted. “If fate wills this be our end, let us take these foul beasts to hell with us!” He cried out, raising his weapon as the gates were flung open and hordes upon hordes of demons in black armor flooded into the city. “CHARGE!”

Samson galloped through the ranks alongside his legions of knights. He was a blur, a golden bolt across the battlefield, masterfully chopping men and monsters with his halberd. His swings and strikes were true, decapitating and sending them flying with one precise swing. His horse was fury itself, galloping with a mind of its own through the ranks and trampling them underhoof. Blood rained down upon the general, nearly blinding him, and yet he pushed on. Many foolish warriors stood before him, challenging the rampage with overzealous confidence, but none could touch him. Their spears fell past the white horse, their blades deflected with ease by the sun-kissed halberd, and their bodies left lifeless in his wake. The General rallied back, charging towards the soldiers and demons that spread through the city. The battle raged on and on, hours passing as the sun fell down through the sky. Its light wavered and dimmed, and no matter how fiercely the valiant soldiers fought, the night came unabated. Steel clashed onto steel and swords painted scarlet leaves on the streets of the city. Fire spread across the homes, scorching them and sending tongues of light into the starry sky. For every soldier of his army that fell, Samson killed ten more, yet the horde was endless. Perhaps he could fight forever, but even his trusty steed could not endure an eternal battle. The demon soldiers kept on coming, driving them deeper into the city.

“SAMSON!” One of his captains shouted, pulling his sword from the skull of an unfortunate foe. “WE HAVE TO FALL BACK!” He finished.

Samsons nodded in agreement, his eyes bulging with bloodlust, as crimson dripped from his beard and face. “FALL BACK!” He screamed to his soldiers. “Fall back! Retreat to the inner walls!” He shouted once more. His soldiers obeyed, the scars of war taking a heavy toll on his legions. The men fled back, and in giving them the chance, Samson failed himself a moment of hesitation and carelessness. Samson saw a silver-black shadow charge towards him, cloaked in the night itself. His halberd was ready, but the blow was deflected too late. A large slice landed across the general’s side, between the folds in his armor.

“And where do you think you’re running off too…?” A quiet voice taunted atop a massive war stallion. “...General Samson.”

Samson quickly pushed through the pain in his side, trotting his horse to face down his enemy, his weapon ready in his hand.

“You must be the one they call the Holy Man.” The General answered back with a voice full of hate and spite. Before him stood the one responsible, the calamity brought to his city. He was wrapped in his cloak, barely revealing the silver armor underneath. His pale, sunken eyes stared back at him from his decrepit, ancient face. A long shadow covered him, as if the night itself embraced him.

“My true name… is Baphomet.” He said, taking a respectful bow. “I am here to cleanse your foul stain from this earth.” He laughed as he unsheathed his black blade. His long bony fingers clasped around a fearsome greatsword, long as the Jawbone, but thinner and more elegant. The blade was not made of iron or bronze, but of a strange black steel. It was cloaked in shadows like its master, but it did seek refuge within them: it commanded them. It moved in a strange and unusual way, as if Baphomet did not truly grasp it. It merely floated in his palm, following the movements of his fingers. “Rejoice, and allow Duskfall to grant you a swift death.”

General Samson considered a response, but he chose to delay no longer. His mind was determined, unclouded by neither doubt nor fear. His stallion’s heart beat alongside his as they charged their foe. Then Samson’s lungs erupted with a feral battle cry as he swung his halberd. A deafening sound echoed when it hit Baphomet's sword. The two clashed steel on steel, and their horses galloped past each other, gathering momentum for a second charge. Baphomet laughed, and Samson grimaced. The second charge ensued, their horses riding through the flaming sand like falling stars across the battlefield. This time, Baphomet struck first, and Samson used the momentum of his block to pivot the weapon. He raised his halberd overhead, and brought it down onto the silver steed’s head, slicing part of its face clean off. The horse whinnied and screamed as a bloody goop of muscle and skin fell twitching on the ground. A pulsing red eyeball in its center still moved. Baphomet laughed even louder, and with a word the horse became silent. It backed off, readying itself for its final charge at its master’s command.

“I can see why this city endured this day.” Baphomet offered his praises. “You are indeed a fierce general, and an even fiercer warrior.”

“Save your empty words for one who cares for them, Holy Man. I am not finished with you yet. HIYAH!” Samson spat back, charging forward with his horse for the final time. Samson charged with the full fury of his pride, with the bravery and strength he’d honed over many decades of war, with the love of his city and his Queen deep within his soul and his heart, and yet Samson only found death. No mortal man could stand before the Holy Man’s blade, its true power not of this world. No matter how valiantly Samson swung the Jawbone, his muscles tensed with might, his aim flawless and true, this foe was beyond him. Baphomet swiped Duskfall through the air, through his halberd, through his neck in a flash of black steel. It was a simple, thoughtless swing, lacking any ounce of grace or elegance, yet nonetheless, it was a killing strike. Silence hung in the air before his half-faced horse let out a quiet whinny as it trotted forward. The Holy Man let his blade hang over his side, droplets of blood staining the sand.

“Pity… It seems I, however, am finished with you.” Baphomet’s laughter echoed on, overpowering the sound of Samson’s body falling lifeless on the ground.

Cassandra stared forward, alone before the eastern gates. On the other side she could hear the madness of war, and she waited patiently. A brave legion of soldiers had charged out into the fray, and now she waited for the inevitable. Soon the handful of remaining soldiers outside would perish, and the enemy would breach the city. But she would not allow them to pass, as long as she was there. Her legs itched with burning desire, ready to unleash death upon her enemies. The black bandage-like straps on her body shifted and moved in rhythm with her still heartbeat.

Thruunk, came the dreaded sound of an unending force crashing against the gates. The time had arrived. Cassandra opened all three of her golden eyes, then the gates were hurled open. A throng of men and demons charged forward with their swords and claws overhead. Their numbers were countless, and yet they all stopped. Every single one stopped dead in their tracks. The whole army silently stared at what lay before them, some pushing against each other to see why no one was moving. Cassandra stood tall, her three horns turning her into a monstrous behemoth of pure intimidation and fear. Her head and fingers twitched with excitement, and her lips curled ever so slightly into a modest smile.

“Come on then!” One fool, more headstrong than the rest, screamed as he decided to charge at her alone. He shouted a strange battle cry and lifted his sword in his right hand, bringing it down onto the manticore. Cassandra blinked and caught the blade in her palm, the steel not even scratching her skin. As the terrified soldier looked into her eyes, frozen in fear, she wondered if he’d realized what a terrible error in judgment he’d made. In a flash, she slashed her left front leg, separating him from his hand. Then, with the same swing she raised both legs and plunged them into his eyes, crushing his skull on the stone ground. Everyone screamed, and charged towards her, but Cassandra was simply too fast. She leapt over them, impaling and skewering a dozen men. She walked on their dead bodies, jumping and trampling them under her saber-like legs. The army charged her, terrified soldiers aimlessly swinging their swords and screaming in fear as they could not touch her. She skittered over them, on the walls, and through them. All the while her claws ripped and tore them to shreds, and her legs sliced and diced like an infernal grind mill. Entrails and bloody sinew stained the golden shade of her scales. The soldiers stepped back, trying to flee. Cassandra raised her gaze, watching the frightened soldiers in front of her with her bloodshot eyes. She grinned, her face full of glee and joy. Without hesitation, she charged. Cassandra cut through the horde before her with ease continuing her brutal onslaught, gruesomely ripping heads and limbs from their bodies. A dozen, a hundred, a thousand men did she tear apart, goring them with her horns or using her claws.

The hours wasted away, the night came, and yet their numbers did not dwindle. Cassandra had fought endlessly, but she was not yet invincible. With enough determination and raw quantity, even her impenetrable skin could bear wounds. And those wounds began to pile. She was slowly getting overwhelmed, and what seemed like an impossibility hours ago, now was all but confirmed. Where were the other soldiers of the city? Had they left her for death? Why was the strength of her foes only increasing, never dwindling, despite the sheer carnage she’d reaped?

“No…” Cassandra heaved, realizing the grim truth. In her ecstatic onslaught, the city had fallen. She fulfilled her duty, and not a single soul made it past her. The gates entrusted to her had been protected, but the enemy had claimed victory elsewhere. Now the enemy rallied back, intent on taking out the last remaining thorn in their side. Cassandra howled at the starry sky, unleashing her rage upon those unfortunate enough to be near her. The thought of her failure weighed heavily upon her. If only she could have been at the other gates… if only. Now it was too late. The women and children of the city fled for their lives, the rampage of the invaders now upon them. Cassandra’s last consolation was merrily tearing the heads off her enemies’ shoulders and bathing in their blood. She fell away from the main streets and turned back to the palace. The city had fallen, but her Queen still lived. She had to go back, it was her only remaining duty yet unfulfilled.

Hours passed before at long last, the ordeal was over. Silence swallowed the chamber, except for the faint breathing of three beings. The baby was a girl and she had fallen asleep almost as soon as she was born. Mephistopheles took her gently and wrapped her in a silken towel.

She looks so pale, so frail… He thought, before he gave her to Camael so she could hold her child in her arms. The Queen began crying, but if it was joy or pain he could not tell.

“Hello…” She said weakly. “Hello, my sweet child… my sweet Uriel…” Camael whispered, pressing her tightly to her chest. The child yawned and grabbed at the air, until her miniscule hands grabbed her mother’s finger. Mephisto was shaken, on the verge of becoming a blubbering mess. He willed himself to move, managing to slide closer and pressing himself gently against the weakened Camael. He then gave her an intense kiss on her head, to calm both of them down.

“Gods… gods Camael… She looks so… squishy.” He whispered, awkwardly.

“Hahah…” Camael giggled softly. “She does, doesn't she? She’s got your nose…”

“Does she?”

“Yeah small and cute, just like yours!”

“Mines not…” Mephisto wiped some tears. “Yeah, yeah I can see it. She definitely has your eyes! Pale and white, and beautiful…” He finished, leaning to give his child a gentle peck on the forehead.

“I hope she takes after you. You hear me, Uriel? Grow up hard and strong, like your father!” Camael nodded, choking on her tears.

“No…” Mephisto shook his head. “She’s going to be a beacon of kindness like you. And the strength… her strength will also be yours. Camael… I must tell you something… about me. About… our child. I must confess, I couldn’t tell you sooner, because I only just found out…” Mephisto took a deep breath, readying himself for the plunge. “Camael, I am a demon.”

The Queen seemed unconcerned, cradling her child and gently rocking her in her arms. “I know.” Came her quick reply.

“Yeah… wait, you do?”

“I’ve always known. From the day we first met so long ago.”

“All this time? You’ve known for longer than I have?” Mephisto asked, mildly shocked.

“I thought… when we met, I was unsure if you knew or not. And after, I didn’t want to bring you unnecessary pain.” Camael confessed. “That day, when I considered ending my life, I found you. I thought about killing you the second we met. After all, who knew what a threat you could have been but…” She turned, with a beaming smile and tears flowing down her cheeks. “...Then you were just so damn charming. So I guess you saved both our lives that day."

Mephisto stared blankly, then with a rush of love, he kissed her. He kissed her deeply, his lips pressing against her as their fiery passion burned their souls aflame with love. Camael was first to break it off, her eyes full of woe.

“Is there a place in this world… for our child? For a child such as this?” Camael wondered.

“A half-demon? I’m sure… if a demon like me survived so long without knowing… I’m sure she will too.”

Camael shook her head. “Worse… oh Mephisto… I’m so sorry.”

“W-what is it?” He asked, slowly shivering.

“I never was… just a Queen. There is a reason hell itself has come for me, torching my city, slaying my people… I am not of this world.” Camael confessed, her face heavy with darkness and fear. “I was torn down eons ago, brought down from the cosmos and heavens above, trapped in hell, and later, in this form you see before you. Just like you are a demon, I learned many years ago that I was an angel.”

“An… angel?” Mephisto stumbled back, his eyes wide and mouth ajar. “What?”

“I cast out my own divinity, choosing to live amongst my people. I owed as much to the parents that loved me and raised me. I never…” Camael bit her lip, drawing blood. “... I never wished for such death to follow me.”

Mephisto was silent. He turned to their newborn, watching as she softly slept, her little body shifting and twitching as she breathed. “If they came for you… they will surely come for her, won’t they?”

“You must not let that happen!” Camael shouted, gritting her teeth as a maternal fury overwhelmed her. “No… I know what must be done.”

Cassandra burst into the chamber, at that moment, startling both of them. She was drenched in blood, from head to the tips of her insect legs. Naught but a few droplets being hers, however. Her face was full of sorrow and anguish. Mephisto had never seen the great woman so utterly defeated, and he knew exactly what that meant.

“The city. Fell.” Cassandra said, voice trembling as she lowered her head in shame. “I was… too weak, my Queen.”

“C-Cassandra, come... please.” Camael spoke, her voice barely audible. The manticore inched closer, pushing Mephistopheles aside. She paused for a moment at the sight of the child in her Queen’s arms.

“Is…”

“Yes… yes, It’s alright. Cassandra…” The queen said, lifting her head with her left hand and smiling at the woman before her. Her hand softly and tenderly rubbed her bloody face, reassuring Cassandra that the end was not yet upon them. “When my life seemed most terrible, you were there for me Cass. You have always been there for me, protecting me and keeping me company in the darkest of days. I never saw you as a monster, only my dearest friend. Please… never forget that.”

“I…” Cassandra’s head fell silently.

“Cass… I would like...“ Camael continued with heavy breath. “To ask one final favor of you, if I may.”

“Of… course!” Cassandra said with a confused nod. .

Camael took her child and tenderly gave it to her dearest friend, pointing at the steel door on the other side of the room. “Please.” She sighed. “Save her.”

Cassandra was appalled, she looked at the gate, then back at the child in her hands. She turned to Mephisto, as if begging him for an answer, and he just nodded back at her with a reassuring smile. “What… is her name?”

“Uriel, Uriel Fladium.”

“Uriel… beautiful… like the light of the sun and the moon…” Cassandra smiled, trying with every ounce of her being to keep the child in her arms without hurting her. “My Queen, they… they will not let me in.”

“With her, they will.” Camael nodded.

“I am scared, my Queen.” Cassandra said plainly.

Camael was broken. She brought her hands to her face, crying inconsolably into her palms. Mephisto hugged her tightly, wiping the tears from her face. “I’m sorry, gods forgive me. I’m so sorry Cassandra.”

“It is… alright. There is nothing to forgive. There is nothing to be sorry for.” Cassandra answered, getting up from the cold ground. She then turned to Mephisto and allowed him to say farewell to his child.

“I don’t understand.” He questioned. “Where are you taking her?”

Cassandra ignored his pleas and walked at the steel doors. A gust of foul air seeped from within as she opened them.

“Where are you taking her?” Mephisto cried out again.

She then stared back at Mephisto, eyes filled with tears, and whispered: “Purgatory.” And then the doors shut behind her with a booming thud. Mephistopheles was left there, staring blankly forward. Camael’s crying broke him from his trance, and he kneeled beside her, embracing her tightly.

“We have to get out of here, Camael.” He said quickly. “We have to-”

“No.” Camael said firmly, pulling him down. “No, it is already too late, my beloved Mephisto. I am truly… the most despicable, demanding such heavy requests of those I love most.”

“W-what do you mean, Camael? Please… you’re the light of my life… you…” Mephisto pleaded, but words failed him.

“I just asked my greatest friend… the last of her kind… to willingly walk into Purgatory itself to keep my child hidden and safe.” Camael shook her head weakly. “And its not even the worst thing I shall ask tonight… Mephistopheles there is something of great importance that you must do for me too.”

Mephisto’s hand shivered as he grabbed Camael’s wrapping their fingers together. He gulped dry breaths, full of fear and dread as he opened his mouth to ask his burning question. “Anything for you… Camael.”

“I need you... to kill me.” She said, weakly pulling the knife from his belt and placing it in his hands.

Mephisto was immediately outraged, his brow furrowing in confusion, and his whole body stiff with dread. “Are you mad?! How can I possibly-”

“Listen to me… Listen please!” Camael begged as gentle stars fell from her eyes and down her cheeks. “If he kills me, he will drag me back to hell, doomed for all eternity. But…” Her hands trembled as she wrapped them around Mephisto’s fist, raising the knife to her neck. She choked, gasping for breath as she struggled and fought to push out the words she so desperately needed to say before the end. “If I die by the hand of the one I love most, my soul will be free. I know it is a selfish desire… and I-I know how hard it is to even consider asking this. But… please, please Mephisto save me, like you saved me before. You saved me in life, now save me in death.”

Mephistopheles stood up, and began walking around aimlessly, whispering constantly to himself. “No… no I can’t no…” He stopped, then kneeled back besides Camael and rested his head on her shoulder. She then gently caressed his head, tears streaming down her skin. He grabbed her hand and began crying louder. “I c-can’t. Please don’t ask me to kill the person I care for most.”

“Please, my beloved Mephisto… only you can save me. Only your promise… only you can do it.”

“I… I…”

“Please.”

“I… promise you this Camael… I will protect you. I will keep you safe… both you and our child, if I ever am to see her again. For you, and for her… for our dear Uriel… I will endure all that I can, I will burn the world to ashes before I let any harm befall her. I… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… please… never forget how much I love you.”

“I’m sorry as well, Mephistopheles my beloved… Thank you… I love you so much…” Camael smiled for the last time.

Mephisto drew his hand. A line of red liquid gushed onto the floor and stone pillars nearby and the mournful sound of death was drowned out by a bloodcurdling scream of pure agony. Then there was silence. The tears that fell from Mephisto’s eyes were stinging, bloody tears that seared into his flesh, so great was the pain in his heart. He screamed until his lungs gave out, and yet he screamed still. Camael’s lifeless body was before him, still bearing her soft smile on her lips, now cold and dry. The person he had loved most in this damned world lay dead in his arms, and no matter how much he tried, there were no thoughts of hope in his mind. No assurance that what he had done was merciful, that it was the only salvation, he could not bear such thoughts, not now, not while the wound on his soul was too fresh. Mephisto was in such torment, that his senses were blinded to everything else. The city burned, and without its leaders, the palace came next. A dark shadow floated through it, seeking its esteemed prize. What it found sent it into an immediate boiling rage.

“NO!” Baphomet howled when he entered the room and saw the Queen’s dead eyes. He was shaken, his veins trembling and nearly bursting with anger.”You utter imbecile! She was not yours… not yours to kill!”

Mephistopheles paid no attention to the foul intruder. But when Baphomet lunged towards him, all the anguish and suffering that he felt within shot him up on his feet. He lunged at him with the same bloody knife, but the demon just effortlessly blocked his attack and threw him back into a pillar.

“I will make you squeal for this. She should have been mine, mine, mine!” Baphomet stepped forward in a flash, his dark blade sliced open Mephistopheles just as he got back on his legs. His chest was split open, through the clothes and ragged armor he wore. He gasped and choked for air before he collapsed to his knees. Baphomet stepped to him, and pulled Mephisto’s head up by his matted hair. He cried out in pain, but it was nothing compared to what came next. Baphomet placed his decrepit finger on the center of his chest, right over the gushing bloody wound he had just inflicted.

“GRAAAAAH! AAAAAH! AAAAAH!” Mephistopheles screamed, terror flowing through him as his body and skin slowly corrupted and peeled open. He felt his very essence being stripped from him with agonizing slowness.

“Damn you, you impudent little worm… you dared save her soul. No matter, I’ll take yours instead. It will bring me little joy… your pathetic worthless being was nothing compared to her… but I will take great pleasure in making your stay in hell a long, arduous, and incredibly painful one. I have an eternity of torment planned for you, worm.” The Holy Man said as he turned and stared in impotent rage at the Queen, her body long extinguished of life. He cared little as he left the man to die, too consumed by the rage and fury of having been denied the execution he so yearned for.

“If I’m going to hell...” Mephisto said, his torso surging with pain, eyes blurry and voice barely a whisper. He turned to Camael, seeing this hooded man reach down to touch her, and felt a righteous, unholy fury swell within him. His life was forfeit, but nonetheless, he dashed forward, picking up the bloody knife from the floor as he moved. Baphomet turned around, shocked to find he was still alive. “Then you’re coming with me!” Mephistopheles shouted, plunging the dagger right into Baphomet’s neck, slamming him on the ground. He then took out the blade, and stabbed him over, and over, and over, and over, and over again, what felt like a thousand times until all willpower and strength was drained from him, the rage subsiding at last. He himself fell to the side, inches from death. His body turned cold. But before he embraced his end, he pushed aside his despair and moved. In his final attempt, he crawled towards Camael’s body, and died embracing her still warm corpse.

Cassandra struggled to breathe through the smog. The unbelievable darkness of the tunnel wrapped around her, choking her with its sickening touch. She pulled the child tightly to her chest, feeling her little body shivering with fear. She dared not let herself feel it as well, summoning all her courage and bravery. Cassandra’s eyes did not wander to her left, nor to her right, they remained glued to her path. An endless wall of skulls and bones were watching her, their skeletal fingers clinging to her skin and body as she passed. The decrepit specters tugged away at her flesh, digging into the depths of her soul. The tunnel got narrower as she advanced, and the bones clawed her even harder, as if they tried stopping her, but she kept moving forward. Despair began to weigh on Cassandra’s mind when the tunnel seemed to close in on her. Where was the end? Would she perish so swiftly? The child in her arms, naught a chance at life? At that very moment, she willed her strength and charged straight with the full might of her body. She crashed into the cave, finally breathing a sigh of relief. It was a colossal cave, where she could not see an end, just endless blackness that stretched on and on forever. Directly before her was a narrow stone bridge leading to a dark and terrible gate. It was beyond ancient, rotten and putrefied. The metal gave off a disgusting stench when Cassandra neared over the bridge. In front of the gate was a single withered and decaying body on a tall throne just as decayed as him. He was draped in a gray robe and he had a long white thin beard that stretched all the way to his bare legs. A silvered veiled cloth as pale as his skin covered the entirety of his face, obscuring it from sight.

“Cassandra the Manticore, walking before the gates of Death with a child. Never had I imagined such a sight.” He said, his voice deep and bassy yet nothing more than a whisper echoing in her ears. Cassandra just leaned her head forward, not knowing how to respond. “Oh, forgive my terrible manners and appearance, the real master of this place is… well, she is out there. Back where you came from.” The strange being continued. “What do you want? Speak your mind creature, there are no lies you can say here that won't send you into the abyss below.”

“I… wish to enter.” Cassandra said softly.

“Why would you want to enter? You are not dead yet. Neither is she.” He shifted around in his seat, intrigued by this strange proposition with his neck twisting at abnormal angles.

“I must… save her.” She answered softly. “This is… the lone way.”

The strange man stifled a chuckle. “Hehe… You can always trust a manticore to tell the truth. Very well then, you both may enter. But know this… the laws of this place are dreadful indeed… I can bend them ever so slightly, but I can only allow one of you to leave after you enter.”

“I do not care. She lives.” Cassandra answered defiantly.

“Can you accept such a terrible life, Dear Cassandra? Giving yourself to your captors for thousands upon thousands of years and then knowingly ending your life to save one of their children? To save the child of the two above? The great manticores, extinguished for the sake of… a child so beautiful?”

“For her.” Cassandra nodded at the child in her arms. “For the Queen, my… friend. Anything.”

The old man nodded, whether by disappointment or pride, Cassandra could not tell. “Tragic is it not? A starlight child, pure and innocent, born in light, hidden in darkness. Born out of the love of an angel and a demon, a queen, and a beggar… They will never stop hunting her, beware of that.” He said, shaking his head and pulling a yellow scroll from his sleeve. “It is truly most fortunate that such great hate washed over your city. It drew out the Master’s eyes, for if the Master of this place was here, rather than I… who knows what would have occurred.”

“I do not… understand.” Cassandra questioned.

“Trouble yourself not… let us just continue. Very well... sign her name on this scroll with your blood, and you may enter. When you deem her ready, prepared for the horrors that seek her end, you will be able to send her back. And you will remain here.” He said, reaching a crimson dagger in front of her.

Cassandra reached with her long arms, pricking her finger on the tip of the blade and drawing a red teardrop. She quickly inscribed the name ‘Uriel Fladium’ on the ancient paper. The gates then slowly creaked open, making a path of darkness for her to walk. Cassandra clutched the child safely in her arms, and smiled as tears fell down her face.

“I warned you, Wolf-Tamer.” The cloaked figure said from the dim shades of the palace’s tunnel. She looked down at the corpses that lay before her, shaking her head in mournful disappointment. Baphomet was still and lifeless, cast out to the side of the chamber, while at its center lay Queen Camael, still embraced by her love, Mephistopheles. The woman waved her hand before Baphomet. A black, liquid substance, like a mixture of mold and ink, immediately swelled from the folds of Baphomet’s cloak, pouring out from the shadows and enveloping his cadaver. His skin and flesh melted away first, and soon the substance reached his bones and sinew. Soon, the entire body became a black puddle, as if the demon that lay there moments ago never existed.

“Now… the deed is done…” She said, staring at the bodies and finding herself smiling at the sight. “What a perfect painting of death you’ve made, little one… most tragic… It seems however that Baphomet was right about your true nature… fellow monarch. You are no mere human. Hmm?” The woman tipped her head, pulling herself closer to the other two bodies on the dark roots and thick branches she had instead of legs and feet. Something about the Queen seemed odd to her. It was a peculiar curiosity, a piece of a strange puzzle removed from its rightful place. The woman leaned down and placed her cold, purplish hands on Camael’s still swollen stomach. Her hood turned back towards the door behind her.

A child? Can such a terrible thing be…? And it would seem the child is gone as well… She concluded, nodding to herself. Shall I tell the others? Perhaps not… this is not the place for me to interfere… no… Baphomet has ruined this world enough for one day.

With her decision made, the hooded woman stood up, raising her arm at the Queen’s cadaver. “However… you my dear deceased Queen… are too precious to decay here.” She said, and following her will, plants and roots crawled from underneath Camael, wrapping her body in a tomb of wood. Mephisto’s body was pushed aside, gently, without being harmed further. “I’m sorry for disturbing your gorgeous painting, little one. May your death still be warm even in such terrible loneliness.”

The woman turned to the coffin and began uttering an unholy prayer. A maw opened in the ground beneath Camael, and the tree of brambles and thorns that her coffin rested upon began to lower into it. It did not take long for the tomb of branches to submerge fully, before the gaping maw snapped shut and vanished as if it was never there. Only marble remained, stained red with blood. “My precious Asmodeus will cherish a gift such as yourself.” She said out loud, satisfied with herself.

The woman wandered out through the city, traveling like a specter through the chaos and mayhem. She was unseen by any, nothing more than a phantom joining the crowd of the damned and perished. Death was all-present. Throughout the burning city, countless cadavers littered the battlegrounds. The crows and carrion feasted on their spoiling flesh moments before they were dragged to burning pits by the victorious soldiers. The bell tolled in the distance, the demonic soldiers celebrating their victory. The cloaked woman shook her head and carried on her way until she spotted a strange figure in the distance. A figure just like her, a spectre unseen by the living.

“I expected your presence here but I never imagined we’d actually meet… Lady Death.” The hooded woman said with a respectful bow. Before her a headless being stood tall, well over a full man and then some. She was clad in dark armor over her torso, and a dress made of a soft silver like white mist flowed down to her knees. A black cape was clasped over the being’s armor, around the absent neck, a cape that billowed in the darkness of the night.

“Do not be foolish, Queen of Rot, why would I not be here… where there are so many souls awaiting the touch of my scythe?” Lady Death laughed with delight, her voice suave and womanly yet biting cold. “The real question is… why are you here, Queen?” Her question stung like an icicle buried deep into a fresh wound.

The woman sighed, and another bell clanged in the distance as if compelling her to speak. “Baphomet’s corpse needed to be dealt with.”

“A pitiful excuse if there ever was one. This city was not meant to fall today, these men, these women…” Lady Death said, angrily pointing her gauntlet at a lifeless child only a stone’s throw away. “...These children… were not meant to die today. Now tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth, but if you are to ask for my heart’s desires… know that I could not pass up an opportunity such as this. This bloodshed and carnage… such glorious death and decay that you brought… it sings like sweet music to me.”

”You always held a great admiration for me and my work, did you not Queen of Rot? Still, this is inexcusable…”

“Eminence, do not take out your anger on me. I, and the other Knights, warned him.” The woman said, standing her ground. “I told him many-a-time, the consequences would be dire…”

Lady Death was silent. She turned away as if deep in thought, and after a few moments, turned back. “Perhaps… your presence here has purpose after all… Since you are here, you would… assist me?”

“A favor… for the Eminence herself?” The woman leaned back slightly, taken by surprise. “I did not envision myself worthy of such an honor. Of course!”

“I… cannot interfere in the physical world. I am forbidden by the cosmic pact… But you are of the physical world. Thus, I only ask for a simple task… gift me a serpent… and allow me to imbue it with my will and power.” Lady Death’s voice echoed like a distant thunder, as her metal fingers extended towards the mysterious woman.

The woman took a respectful bow. “Very well, Lady Death.” She whispered. With a quick step, she moved to the dead child’s corpse, where she flicked her fingers, channeling her demonic power through it. From the child’s mouth blood began to pour, what was once spilled and dried, now flowing anew. The blood grew and grew, turning from a few droplets into a river of crimson, and at its very tip, a black head began to form. The blood congealed in its true shape, a long, crimson serpent with black diamond scales drawn on its back. Commanded by the hooded woman, the snake crawled up her wooden legs, over her soft body, and out through her sleeves, into her hands.

“Marvelous.” Lady Death said, giving a gentle clap.

“For you… Gray Lady.” The woman said, lowering her head as she offered her the serpent. Lady Death took it in her gauntlet, whispering a dark prayer to it as its forked tongue flickered out of its mouth.

“You always were my favorite of all thirteen… Queen Grisette.” Lady Death whispered approvingly, and with a thrust of her hand she sent the serpent on its mission. Before the woman could respond, the specter of Death vanished, leaving her alone in the burning city.

The serpent crawled away through the bloody sand, seeking the rightful target for its unhallowed quest. Its animal senses guided it across the city, avoiding the footfalls of soldiers and the sting of flame. At last, it found the lifeless body that called to it, even in death. General Samson’s still body was lying on the ground, trampled by foes and fleeing cowards. The snake slithered closer towards the corpse, hissing repeatedly. With quickness, the beast then climbed on his face closer to the man’s still open eyes. The snake lunged, and then bit the General’s white iris-less eye. Its venom coursed through his dead body, forever tainting the cold blood therein with vile, unholy strength. The animal then moved to the general’s weapon, the Donkey’s Jawbone. The weapon was broken, sliced asunder by Baphomet’s blackblade. The serpent hissed one last time as it coiled around the broken parts, pulling the blade and handle together. As its body melted into the blood that it was born from, the broken parts of the weapon became whole once again. What was once golden and bright, alight with hope, now was a dark crimson. A few oncoming soldiers made their way through the street. Two were carrying a few more bodies and one walked in front of them smoking from a pipe. The bell in the distance rang for the last time, as moments later, screams broke loudest in the shadows of the night. The soldiers saw death claim them at the brutal hands of the resurrected revenant.

Unholy, demonic rage coursed through Samson’s veins, his white eye now red as the moon overhead. He shouted and screamed and crushed entire homes with a single swing of his halberd. Where once there was a mighty soul, a powerful and just being with kindness in their heart, now remained only a monster of rage. Samson rampaged through the city, destroying all who had the misfortune of crossing his path. After three days and three nights of an unending massacre through every building in the city, through every field and plain of the countryside and the mountains around, Samson finally finished his cruel task. He expected to feel liberation, but he found nothing but pain and rage. He had killed an insurmountable number of men, women, children, soldiers, survivors and most of all, demons. It did not matter to him who or what they were, he killed them all. The rage was overwhelming, and through it, the General began ripping the very city apart. Single handedly, Samson tore the city down to nothing but rubble and ruin. When he was finished at long last, he cleaned the blood off his weapon and armor, and put on the black cloak to hide his shameful visage. Then he walked on into the desert, as a single star shone on the darkened sky, guiding his way.