Grimoires and Gunsmoke

With one hand, Varian cradled his head as he stared at the raging fire in his fireplace, but in the other, he clutched documents that were crumpled up with his claws piercing through the thick stack. The words of that damnable devil rang once more in his mind as his vision remained locked on the violently popping embers.

His supposedly easy and bloodless path to becoming a true god had been a catastrophe.

"No, not a catastrophe," Varian laughed to himself, correcting his own thoughts. "This is a calamity."

His advisors had warned him, hells, one of the devils even cautioned him against meddling with the unknown. But the allure of true godhood, the temptation to possess an even grander realm, had been too much. The celestial dragon, the heart of their expeditionary force and a symbol of his might, was now lying in a recuperative state after the failed incursion. The beast’s majestic feathers no longer shone with the luster of the heavens, and its once mighty roar was reduced to pained groans.

But the open rift was an even greater concern. The swirling vortex that stabilized the abomination was a blemish upon the skyline of the savage lands as if it spoke of an inevitable threat.

Yet, Varian was not one to be easily deterred. Over the century, he had built a vast and intricate web of alliances, dependencies, and rivalries. Each vassal, tributary, nomadic horde, hostile state, and even the untamed lands themselves had their role in his grand design.

For centuries he had played the game of power and politics with finesse, maneuvering like a grandmaster on the cosmic chessboard. No single entity, be it friend or foe, had truly understood the depths of his strategy or the extent of his reach. But forces being able to rival his own without the use of magic had been an unforeseen anomaly and an anomaly he needed to keep distant while he searched for a way to handle it.

As if on cue, the firepit roared and bellowed throughout the chamber, jolting Varian from his thoughts. The sudden heat felt more like a blow of icy wind as Varian shivere, however, it wasn't just the temperature that unsettled him. No, it was the figure that stood just in front of the firepit that glared hatefully at him with glowing hellish eyes.

"You cannot close it, can you?" The figures whose voice dripped with malice and discontentment echoed throughout the chamber. And just before Varian could blink, the devil Alastor himself stood just in front of him.

The devil’s form shifts between a man and a nightmarish creature with horns and leathery wings. Flames licked the edges of his silhouette, casting eerie shadows along the walls.

Varian's vision swam as the world around him seemed to darken, focusing solely on Alastor. A sharp tug within his mind hinted at a connection between them, as if an invisible thread had always existed but had only now grown taut.

"In your thirst for godhood, you have knocked on doors that should have remained closed, Varian." Alastor's voice was hypnotic, forcing Varian to recall every whispered warning and every ignored premonition. "I did warn you. But in your hubris, you believed you were exempt from such folly.”

The emperor’s heart raced, but his demeanor remained composed, his gaze unwavering. "The pact," he declared resolutely, "still stands between us. By its terms, no harm shall come to me from the hells and its schemes while the deal holds true." The ethereal atmosphere in the room grew thick with tension as the emperor continued, "I have the Banished One within my grasp. You cannot, and will not, harm me, Alastor."

A low chuckle resonated from Alastor, echoing throughout the chamber, filling every crevice with its unsettling cadence. "Bold words from someone who has potentially damned not only this mortal plane, but ALL MORTAL PLANES!” The Devil snarled, his voice dripping with venom. The flames around him grew brighter, casting a sinister hue that bathed the room in a deep crimson light. "The hells and its devils do not wish to rule RUBBLE, Varian.”

With the glint of challenge still in his eyes, Varian's chin lifted defiantly towards Alastor. "I've always been a gambler, Alastor. I may not understand the entirety of what I've done, but I am more than capable of navigating the storm I've created."

Alastor's laughter was like the clash of steel, cold and foreboding. "Even now your arrogance blinds you.” He sneered, holding his evil clawed hand to his head.

“Enough!” Varian’s fist slammed down onto his desk. “I have filled my end of the bargain, Alastor." With a flourish, he presented the ethereal contract, its iridescent ink shimmering in the chamber's dim light. The parchment seemed to pulse with a power of its own, an embodiment of the oaths and deals made only in the infinite hells.

For the first time, Alastor seemed taken aback, his posture straightened as his attention was riveted on the document. "You wouldn’t dare..."

"I not only dare, I assert!" Varian interrupted with a bellow. "I here formally transfer the ownership of the Banished One to you. And as per the contract's stipulations, my safety and sovereignty are guaranteed! You, your infernal minions can lay a hand on me, and neither can damned machinations!"

The devil's eyes narrowed as his fist trembled in demonic fury. The firepit and each candle in the room burned intensely even though the air itself felt as chilly as ice. "You think these mere words will save you? That this... contract will be your shield?"

Varian leaned in, his voice dripping with confidence. "It's not just words, Alastor. It's a bond by the Hell’s themselves, a promise that even the current reigning Satan dares not break. I may be a mortal in your eyes, but I've played this game long enough to know its rules."

Alastor clenched his teeth so hard, it could have torn through steel while his gaze flicked between the contract and Varian. Silence dominated the Varians personal quarters as the devil calculated his next move. The chamber's atmosphere grew dense, the weight of decisions, of fate, and of a cosmic game of power pressing down upon them.

"Where… is… she?" Alastor finally asked in barely contained anger.

A wicked smirk widened across Varian's face as the contract slowly burned from top to bottom after its fulfillment. “Why it's at the heart of the Rift itself, dear Alastor.”

Silence reigned as the two stared at each other, but where Varian wore a smug look, Alastor’s expression said he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. Suddenly the devil erupted into an uncontrolled laughter as he pointed one evil clawed finger at Varian. “You!” He continued to bellow, clutching his head with his other hand. “You would make a SUPERB devil, Varian!”

With that last proclamation, the chamber once filled with an air of confrontation and imminent doom was drowned in the devil's maniacal laughter. Shadows danced with the flames, and the room's boundaries seemed to blur, its edges disintegrating into nothingness.

Alastor's figure grew larger, the air around him shimmering with dark energy. "You think you've won? You think that because you've traded the Banished One, the very catalyst of the rift, and offload the responsibility onto me?"

Varian's smirk didn't waver. "Isn't that how it is, devil ? A trade, a deal, an exchange of services? I've upheld my end, and now you have what you wanted."

For a brief moment, Alastor looked genuinely thoughtful as his eyes burned with an infernal light. He knew for a fact that Alastor was trying to make him the scapegoat and make him liable for this fiasco. The devil pondered the near infinite possibilities this could go and finally settled on a single course of action.

Ever the strategist, Alastor reared himself up to his full height and adjusted himself to look more regal. “Very well, Varian.” He saidwith a voice as smooth as honey yet filled with a venomous undercurrent. "You have indeed kept to the terms of our agreement, and I am bound by the very nature of this infernal contract. But you seem to forget that while a contract prevents direct harm, it does not limit indirect consequences."

“What are you insinuating…?” Varian narrowed his eyes.

Alastor's smile broadened, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth that seemed to absorb all light. "I'm saying that while I cannot lay a hand on you and I may not plot your demise, but the choices you've made have opened doors. Doors that might allow others, not bound by our agreement nor even aware of me to take interest in you."

Varian’s claws dug deep into the table as knots started to tighten in his stomach. "What… are you insinuating, devil…?" An angry hiss escaped between the emperor's sharp teeth.

However, The devil didn’t answer and chose to bellow out a hearty and sinister laugh as he flicked his hands. Suddenly a flash of intense heat radiated throughout the chambers as Alastor vanished in a collapsing ball of fire, leaving only echoing laughter and the powerful stench of sulfur.

Left alone in the chamber, Varian collapsed into his chair as an ominous chill ran up his spine. The bravado and confidence he once oozed was now replaced by a sinking foreboding feeling as the realization he had a devil plotting against him now.

“I need allies,” he murmured to himself, gazing at the still burning ethereal contract finally evaporating into nothingness. The game was far from over, and Varian realized that the next few moves would be critical, and he had to be prepared for whatever awaited him in the shadows of the unknown.

-

Coleman and his Special Forces ODA (Operational Detachment Alpha) had just touched down at the Forward Operating Base (FOB), disembarking from a Black Hawk that had whisked them back from their observation point.

The 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (SOAR), known as the Night Stalkers, had provided their usual exemplary transport when a Ranger Chalk had come in to hit the target they were observing. Just like the Rangers, the Black Hawks themselves were far from standard issue and were equipped with the cutting edge of avionics, FLIR systems for night operations, and refueling probes for extended range.

But out of all the raid’s he had taken part in or observed, the Rangers still managed to surprise him. Coleman still vividly remembered the operation, as the 160th SOAR made their approach with an aggressiveness he'd rarely seen, even among seasoned pilots. They came in low and fast, hugging the earth as if it were a long lost lover and unleashing a veritable swarm of Rangers fueled by steroids, Rip Its and hatred.

As Coleman's boots hit the tarmac, he noticed the activity around the base had intensified. Armored units rolled past, and mechanics and crew swarmed over APCs and IFVs, conducting last-minute checks and repairs. The air was electric with the whine of turbines as more helicopters landed, unloading their cargo of Marines and soldiers before lifting off again with a wash of dust and debris. However, the sight of more Rangers loading into the nearby modified Black Hawks, made his hair stand on end.

Suddenly a bout of laughter drew Coleman's attention away from the spectacle. Elijah and Bennett, two of his team members, were ribbing a platoon of SEALs gearing up near their own helicopters readying themselves to replace them as recon elements watching a section of the rift. The SEALs, identifiable by their distinctive patches and the casual swagger that accompanied their precise movements, were prepping for their own observation mission near the Rift.

Elijah, ever the instigator, had a wide grin plastered on his face. “Hey, don’t forget your fins!” He shouted as they passed the SEALs. “Wouldn’t want you guys to drown in that small creek!”

One of the SEAL’s, a brown skinned bald man and with a neck gaiter covering half of his face, scoffed and shot back, “Shut the fuck up, Eli. I bet you and your bitch boy got lost again.”

Knowing they were talking about him, Bennett joined in on the fray. "Try not to write a book about this one, alright?" His reference to the stereotype caused the SEALs to simultaneously groan and roll their eyes.

However, it was all in good fun as another round of laughter was had, “No promises! It’s gonna be a bestseller called 'The Time I Saved an Army Guy'.” An extremely pale, short and stocky SEAL replied. "But don’t worry, we'll mention you guys in a footnote."

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Coleman motioned to his team to follow. The humor was fun, but they had their own after-action reports to file and new orders to receive.

Soon the laughter faded and was replaced with only the beats of helicopter blades and whines from engines as the SEALs went back to their preparations. But it wasn’t long until the Frogmen piled onto their designated aircraft and ascended into the air. They were off to do exactly what the Army Special Forces, the Rangers and other special operations forces were set out to do: Setting the conditions.

Bradley Fighting Vehicles maneuvered through designated areas of the base, their engines growling like caged beasts ready for the hunt. The mechanized infantry units, with their M1126 Strykers, conducted pre-combat checks, ensuring every piece of equipment was functional and every round of ammunition was accounted for. The rumble of heavy steel treads from the M1A2 Abrams added a bass line to the cacophony of the FOB as they lined up, their powerful turbines spinning up.

Artillery units were busy as well, with Paladin self-propelled howitzers being loaded to the brim with munitions. They would provide the necessary fire support, capable of delivering devastating barrages to soften enemy positions before any advance.

And in the midst of it all, Coleman and his team strode confidently towards the Tactical Operations Center to be debriefed. Inside, the buzz of officers fussing over screens, maps and radios painted the picture of a nerve center pulsing with information. Coleman's boots thudded against the firm surface of the prefab floor as they made their way to the debriefing area. The team didn’t even take off their gear as they all took their seats.

In every corner of the room stood or sat high ranking officers, patiently waiting for the debriefing and engaged with their own discussions. With the ODA finally fully present, the operations officer Acknowledged the presence of the operators with a nod and opened his laptop before signaling to everyone the debriefing was about to begin. A projector hummed to life, casting a high fidelity video of a drone observing the area of operations as the Special Forces team prepared to recount their observations. The sterile light cast long shadows across the faces of the attending officers and analysts, all of whom were poised to absorb the details that could shape the subsequent operations.

Coleman, still in his dusty gear, stood up first. "During our observation phase," he started, his voice steady despite the adrenaline slowly ebbing from his system, "we identified a large spire-like structure at the core of the Rift. It appears to be a… energy source of some sort, or perhaps it's harnessing it. We couldn't quite determine its origin or purpose, but the emissions were obvious."

The video then focused on the spire in the heart of the Rift and filled the screen. "This structure," he pointed, "was guarded by individuals who, due to their distinct attire, we identified as potential high-value targets (HVTs). Their behavior suggested they were either a command element or elite cadre."

A sea of murmurs overcame the room for a moment as everyone watched the feed. The team waited a while to let everyone have their own discussion before Schwarz decided to pick up where Coleman left off.

"Here you see the arrangement of their encampment," he said, standing up and pointing to a cluster of armored individuals with a laser pointer. "Notice the perimeter security and the internal checkpoints. This wasn't a temporary setup; they've been here a while."

"We monitored them for a while, but then they suddenly started exhibiting signs of their imminent departure.” He said as everyone watched the video of the encampment come to life with activity. "Watch their body language here, there was a sense of urgency that wasn't present before. They’re gesturing aggressively, which could indicate a dispute or change in plans."

Coleman then pressed a button on a laptop sitting on a table, and the video fast-forwarded to show the individuals beginning to pack up with haste. "Our assessment led us to believe that something, maybe a communication, triggered this sudden change.”

The room’s atmosphere grew tense, as field officers and flag officers started discussing theories. "Based on this development," Coleman continued, "we initiated communication with the QRF. They needed to move swiftly to intercept or before they could disappear, but unfortunately, we were too late."

The projection flickered as the timeline sped up, showing the sequence of the rangers being deployed from the helicopters fast ropes unfurling, figures of rangers engaging the guard detail, and the aircraft lifting away. It was a well-executed insertion, but the operation was a bust and left them no closer to what the hell they just stumbled upon.

“With no HVT and no actionable intelligence, it was best to bug out before the enemy's own QRF responded.” Coleman finished, his expression taut with a hint of annoyance.

The assembled officers of every rank and branch leaned in, trying to wrap their brain around what just transpired. The loss of a high-value target was a setback, but it was not the end of the operation, it was merely a shift.

“This isn’t the outcome we anticipated, but it’s not entirely fruitless either. Every encounter, successful or not, provides us with valuable information.” Captain Alleck Dohmer, a Navy Seal commanding officer, spoke up. “Whatever information they received, spooked them enough to get the hell out of there, so the question is what?”

Tapping his finger on the table, Captain Dohmer looked at his colleagues in the Special Operations Command (SOCOM) and the conventional military. “Perhaps they’ve got eyes on us and are watching our build up and realized we’re going to make our own moves soon.”

A United States Marine Corp (USMC) General nodded in agreement. "We need to assume they have some level of counter-intelligence at play. It's imperative we review our operational security measures and the potential for leaks."

“My question is; what in the fuck is that thing?” Brigadier General Lawrence Hargrove, gestured to the still image of the strange marble spire emitting energy. “Is this a weapon? Is this some sort of communication device, or-”

“How they opened the rift?” Elijah randomly blurted out, causing everyone to snap their heads towards him and stare.

Coleman pinched the bridge of his nose, a hint of frustration showing through his otherwise composed demeanor. “Elijah, now’s not the time-”

Another officer, this time General Michael Jones from the Air Force raised a hand and stopped Coleman from his reprimand. “No, No. Let him finish. I’m curious.”

Suppressing a disgruntled sigh, Coleman shot Elijah a glare.The man was not typically the one to theorize on operational intelligence, he was just a medic. But now he was being bolstered by General Jones' interest.

The room was still, every officer and analyst waiting to hear more.

“Sir, with all due respect.” Elijah raised his hands in submission as his eyes danced between the officers and Coleman. “I’m just the doc, I don’t really know what I'm talking about.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, General Jones knocked on the table to get his and everyone's attention. “Your perspective as a medic isn’t worth any less than anyone else's in this room. As a matter of fact, as an operator that took part in this operation, you could have spotted something no one else had or provide invaluable insight into the matter.”

Elijah felt the weight of the room's eyes upon him including the daggers Coleman was shooting at this moment. The man knew he had no choice but to elaborate on his earlier interruption.

“Alright,” Elijah replied slowly and tentatively, “I was just thinking that… the spire is in the middle of the rift, right?”

The room remained silent as they waited for the medic to continue.

A cold jolt of nerves shot up Elijah’s spine as he felt the pressure building. “And there’s this strange material or energy surrounding the entire rift as if it’s holding it together. Our HVTs were also positioned around it for a while, like chanting, praying or whatever around it. I don't think that was just happenstance; they were protecting it, or maybe channeling it somehow."

Murmurs spread across the room like wildfire with Elijah’s words acting as the kindling, each person pondering the implications of such an absurd theory. It wasn't just the position of the spire, but the behavior of the high-value targets and the enemy’s reaction lent credence to the theory.

Captain Dohmer, catching on to the hesitant yet insightful demeanor of Elijah, leaned forward. “It makes sense, especially since everyone except the HVT’s were stopped and turned away…” The man then leaned back heavily in his chair and folded his arms as he tried to think. “We need to secure it, and we need to secure it NOW.”

The Captain then suddenly stood up and started marching to the door. “We need to throw everything at this, I’ll divert my boys. Pike, can you get your rangers on this?”

Army Colonel Matthew Pike stood up as well and nodded. “Coleman, get you and your team back on those choppers in ten.”