Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

"SEPTIMUS FILIUS HELORUM! Echanté I Umbrarum et Nocturna!"

"What the hell's he on about?" A Nindati sellsword from across the Cold Sea with a bandage wrapped around his missing left ear asked of his fellow as he spied the one man in the lead of the rebellion army chanting into the bedarkened skies. The man had the navy robes of the High Druids, the cosmic [Yin Yang] sceptre, and his cowl floated in the wind.

This one Magus commanded his magicks into the night as the horde of abyssal frights charged to the Rebellion Army, wrath and death in their crimson eyes.

"Septimus. Filius. Helorum. Septimus..." the [Rank A] sorcerer, Damnameneus kept whispering his words softly, imbuing the coats and chainmails of all in the rebels army with shield magic to the hack of infernal weapons. It was bad enough that the axes the demon waved in their furious approach looked like the kit of a plague doctor, magnified and made deadly to hold [Red Cosmo]. Roars of the incoming horde shook the earth in tremors as the footfalls of 90ft Titans pounded the sands.

"Big, dumb bastards." One Iron Maiden cussed.

Just a feet behind the channeling sorcerer, among the ranks of the frontier company, Israfel sat on his chestnut steed. He did not fret, but with steadfast eyes, his amber orbs stared out his silver helmet at the thumping thunder of cavalry. His host gazed upon the face of their Rebel Lord and had faith.

"Archers!" He roared, "nock!"

The advance charge of shield bearers fell back as sixteen hundred soldiers armored with death quills knelt to the ground. Bowstrings of lead stretched tight, ready to sing into the twilight skies. The force was quite the sight. They had military precision, if not the numbers. But their Commander had a plan to even down the seven-to-one ratio between his rebellion army and the infernal host.

"Hold!" Israfel held up his fist. He held his breath, and felt his soldiers roundabout and behind do the same as he waited for the charging devils to come close enough for maximum mortality. He wished for as much casualties as he could get from the rushing stampede of horned ogres. "Hold!" He put up his fist higher. "Not yet. . ."

He felt the strings of the archers reach elastic limit, all of them piercing the night in strange song, like the sharp music of a lute.

Lucifer was fifteen clicks away. And the first idiot Mauler had just tramped the rocks of the fallen walls, the small boulder crumpling to dust under its abominous foot. The horde had reached twenty feet across from the frontier company.

"NOW!" Rafel roared. "Archers, loose!"

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The arrows flew out faster than a kite through rain clouds. The streals first ascended into the sky, shot straight into the heavens by the archers but with clear targets on the approaching demons. Miles into the sunset, the arrows turned as one and began fast descent. The multitude of them blotted out the orange dipping sun for moments as they rushed down to the ugly heads of the horde. It was a rain of metal. A rain of [Sunfire] too.

Damnameneus was kind enough to spell the tips of the arrows with the luminous faerie magic. To the demons, [Sunfire] was holy water.

"Aargh! Aarggglck! Ack!" The idiot Mauler devil in the front of the horde went down in a pained scream as an arrow rushed down and went cleanly through his neck, instantly setting the scarlet demon aflame. [Sunfire] ravaged his body like the poison of black rose. It tore the devil's skin in golden fire; veins exploding like dry grass, black blood catching the heat like peat on a log.

"Aargh! Aargh!" The demon tried to tear his own neck off, anything to pull out the destroying arrow. His screaming chilled the blood. Now devils had a phenomenal resistance to fire, but not [Sunfire]. The celestial flames incinerated the Mauler to a skeleton heap.

Thud!

The black horned head, severed and cauterized and steaming, dropped off cleanly to the ground.

The headless Mauler crashed among the rubble of the city's wall, five inches from his still roasting head. The corpse jerked on the stones and the bodyless head frothed in the mouth like pig on a roast stick.

Rafel's horse trampled the burned head.

Squash!

Evil viscous blood and bits of brain splashed the sandals of the soldiers. And not a one looked down.

Lucifer watched the rain of arrows pour down on his horde, sending his front troops into a calamity of godflame; in seconds transformed to screaming whelps set ablaze. And in more seconds, nothing but ash leaking black blood. The old dragon raged astride Leviathan. Hundreds of his demons were running nutjobs of flames.

Whoosh! Puck! Whoosh!

More fiery arrows still rained down, plucking the devils where they stood. "Weak cunts!" Lucifer cursed his own forces. He himself conjured a [Dark Hex] above his head with the snap of a finger. The occult forcefield block out the arrows that rushed for him. He peeled his eyes off the asinine scum in flames running about him and stared hard at Rafel. His red eyes slid swiftly to Damnameneus.

"Die, pyromancer!" A shadow spear went flying out from beside Lucifer. It was Asmodeus who'd tossed it.

"Shieldguard! TURTLE EMBRACE!" Khalifa shouted the soldiers into formation. As chief Lieutenant, she took her role very seriously, especially with the foes heaped on the opposite side of the battlefield.

The Archers fell back, swallowed with the sorcerer Damnameneus into the steel embrace of the [Iron Force]. Like the shell of a turtle, the metal benders put up their shields, blocking out the entire army, both from above and the sides. And like a turtle's shell, the shield line was impenetrable. Hard, shiny Adamantium metal. Nothing was getting in.

Hundreds of warriors shields joined so tight even wisps of smoke couldn't slip in.

Asmodeus' dark spear bounced off it.

Thwaaang!

It glanced the stellar metal and ricochetted.

It drilled square into the chest of an unsuspecting devil trying to corner into the ranks of the rebels.

The sharp silver on the surfaces of the shields put out white light, reflecting the dusk's glow into the eyes of the horde struggling to form another advance. And whilst they were blinded again, Rafel saw his chance. "Archers, nock! And... LOOSE!"

The Shieldguard fell back. The archers rose again. And then their [Sunfire] arrows darkened the skies before brightening the camp of demons, purifying the horde in luminous godling flames. Everytime one of the Fallen would hurl out a javelin or great axe to the Rebellion Army, the Shieldguard would cover again, and such attack never found target.

However, Rafel kept raining his arrows upon them. It was an excellent strategy, and immeasurably successful.

By the time the very first demon: a tusked Reaper managed to club a dent in the Shieldguard and break through their ranks, three thousand flaming devil corpses made the air on the battlefield sting with sulphur emitted from their charred flesh.

It was Belbys's Titan, Ouönameth: the [Winged Ape] that finally broke through the Iron Force. Then the real wage and rage began.

Despite the bravery of the Rebellion Army, the zeal in the southerners mortal hearts, and the resilient fierceness of their King, the demon horde still outnumbered them four to one. Rafel being the only Fallen on their side was not good. Nine Hel gods fought on the side of their adversaries. The arms of the Bonelanders fatigued with swinging and swinging. Rafel faced off the abominable Titans; he slashed off knees with [WorldGobbler], leaving the lesser devils to his army.

Eventually, the mortality of the Rebellion host cut them short as the hours wore long. Their stamina dimmed, and though Damnameneus and the rest of the mage circle tried to keep the hearts of the warriors un-waned, Lucifer and his Hellions had had eons to train for perseverance. They knew the moment Rafel's forces grew tired and took serious advantage of it. The death toll switched side. For every hundred demons, Rafel lost three hundred good men. The numbers of the Rebellion Army depleted.

"How many of us left, Peitho? How many?" Rafel breathed heavily as he pulled his Warhammer from the bludgeoned skull of a red Tormentor.

It was three hours past. His arm ached. Fucking Behemoth had ate his horse whole... the poor animal. He was tempted with retreat even as he requested of his system to give a census of the remnants of his army at the bloody frontiers. They had managed to keep the horde out of the city. But barely.

[Ding!]

[Lord host, current populis of your Force is at 4 300]

"Shit, Peitho. That's a trickle."

[I'm sorry, my Lord.]

Rafel pulled his eyes back to the high rise of the dark castle on the Capital's rugged hill. The last moon of the season was out, and full. He could almost see his Aunt's smile beyond the barrel of Cora's rifle.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Checkmate, darling." He could almost hear her lily in the valley voice.

BOOM!

A cannon fired directly behind him to a pack of charging hellhounds. He didn't hear anything for a minute—but at least the [Rank C] hell beasts were obliterated to meat pieces on impact of the cannon's charge. He put the bugle to his lips, about to call the battle retreat when he heard the sharper, denser sound of a war horn.

From his far left—

PUUUUHHHHHH!

PUH! PUUUUHHHHHH!

He turned and spotted a new army rising from the west. From the robust skyline of the Independent Republic. Riding in from the west were thousands of silver line chariots and what had to be a host of a million. The soldiers were as ants from this distance. At the third blowing sound of the war horn, all fighting paused on the battlefield. This new war miracle rushed down the lush western hills, crossing the Great River in a rush of sparkly water waves. Your next chapter is on empire

"Armies to our aid!" a Samurai missing a leg gave the shout as he stumbled, his Katana as a crutch.

Under the very bright moonlight, the host riding in were like angels upon the clouds in their gallant silver armory.

Rafel blinked. His bugle hit the dirt.

Up until now, Rocasus had played no side to the war. A free city, they kept their autonomy, even in the plight at Titans Landing. He was wondering what made the ruling [Legata] of the west change her mind when the sprawling armies reached, and joined the fight—on his side. He was beyond words. And beyond stunned. "What is happening, Peitho? Their mere cavalry populates the battlefield."

Before his [S.INS] could form a reply, Rafel spotted two riders on fast horses breakout from the mighty infantry multitudes, rising, as the black flags of the [Kala Domoni], from the corner of his eyes.

As they swiftly advanced, armors glinting off silver shards of moonlight, he noticed the long, riverine blue hair on the one woman—the first rider, and on the second: a sturdy male, the luminous gold locks whipping in the night breeze.

Rafel's mouth kept dropping the closer they got to him.

By the time they breached closely enough to see clearly their faces in moonlight, his lower jaw just about scrubbed the drying blood on his Spartan battle-sandals.

Is that—

"Hello, old friend."

"Hello, husband."

The man and woman said as one.

Rafel couldn't help the agape color in his eyes. He recognized two faces he hadn't seen in a while. Very pretty people, the both of them. The woman, he hadn't seen since after his escape from Eragonn. The man, since Lilith destroyed the witch Citadel at Corynthia.

"Percival? Yemaya?"

"Yes." The Atlantean Queen smiled wide. "It is us, my most handsome spouse." Percival Van Imperia pulled out his gilded longsword. "We'll talk later, yeah? But first, how about we finish this." Rafel nodded solemnly and pulled again his ox-black helmet. He charged his surviving warriors to his side. "ONWARDS... TO VICTORY!!!"

The Rebellion Army rode under the full moon of that luminous nightfall, laden with reinforcements of a million [Oceanus] Atlanteans and free city folk, to a victory quicker than a beaver's feet on a forest path.

The great bells of the Cathedral tolled at first light. More than five hundred thousand slain lay on the field of battle. As the wan moon rolled into what was certain to be the most peaceful morning the Golden Capital had had in three years, the last of the silver moonshine illuminated the chariots of victory in the grounds of the castle at Darkwake.

All around the city, Healers, Surgeons, Menders, [Mechas], Mages—and whores tended to the victorious forces. The Rebellion Army had won the war. And with more than eleven hundred surviving soldiers, whom tended to their needs as they saw fit with the slow break of dawn.

The sun was bright and beautiful that morn, and rose on all Infernal Generals: [The Fallen], bound together in a [Hyperion Cell], their divine bodies cast into stasis for eternity.

Petrified to stone.

Alive, but frozen in place.

Their spines straight as cattle prods, in this prison of shadows; the [Continuum Infinitum]—because the Rebellion march wasn't taking any chances for an escape, the [S Rank] Archs could see and hear, but not move. Never move.

This curse laid upon them, unbreakable. With the Legendary [Crown of Thorns] relic, blessed by the whole society of amiable Vestals, the Archdemons of Hel were shut up in their darkness like the stone breathers in Medusa's lair. Nevertheless, among the caged Principalities, one was missing—

High Duchess of Darkness. The toppled Dowager of the war city, the Lady of shadows. Why, wasn't she imprisoned forever, one might wonder.