Devourer

Chapter 220: Rage of the Ancients

Beelzebub sat poised in the opulent chair, her pale skin contrasting sharply with the rich crimson velvet. Her molten amber eyes glowed with a fierce intelligence, framed by sleek, dark horns and cascades of inky hair. Polished, claw-tipped fingers rested elegantly on the chair’s arm, while faintly glowing symbols on her armor pulsed with hidden power, casting an ethereal glow that enhanced her dark, magnetic beauty. Across from her was her main collaborator in this grand conspiracy.

Satan sat in the lavish chair with an air of dark regality, his graceful and imposing form striking in the dim light. His skin was a smooth, smoky gray, marked with faint silver lines that seemed to shift like wisps of smoke. His piercing, dark eyes glowed with a cold, intense intelligence, set beneath sleek, obsidian-black horns that curved back from his temples. His fingers, long and elegantly tapered, rested on the armrests, each nail gleaming like polished onyx. Clad in dark, tailored robes that shimmered with hints of crimson, his presence exuded a magnetic, dangerous charm, as if the shadows themselves gravitated toward him.

The pair was rarely in the same room together. It was not every day that the Daemon Princes met in person. Usually, when this happened, something was about to go very wrong for someone else, or perhaps, in this case, something had already gone wrong.

“It seems your scheme has gone well,” Satan said, his voice barely above a whisper, as always.

Beelzebub smirked, reminded of an old adage, “Beware a quiet man’s anger.” Satan was the Daemon Prince of Wrath, and many thought of him as this explosive, imperious butcher. That, of course, was by design; it was his public persona. However, when dealing with his equals, the Daemon Princes, one would find him quiet and soft-spoken. Beelzebub honestly thought this might be a ruse as well. After all, it was a good juxtaposition to throw his opponents off guard.

“Yes, it is. By the way, this might interest you,” Beelzebub said as she held out a transmission orb.

Satan took it and channeled a small amount of power. The orb came to life, and a projection appeared showing none other than the general of the army that had just been blasted apart by the Infernis mine explosion.

"Your Excellency," the general stammered, his voice trembling as he struggled to steady himself.

"The… the Infernis Mine... it’s gone. There was an explosion, a massive blast that tore through the entire facility. We don’t yet know the source, but, " he swallowed, panic evident in his eyes.

“Forces of Gluttony are capitalizing on this breach, pushing deep into our territory,” the general said, his voice trembling as he knelt on the ground.

There was a moment of silence, then a deep, rumbling voice as the Daemon Prince of Envy spoke.

“You will be punished greatly for this failure…” Leviathan said.

“My lord, please…” the general begged.

“Take him… we will start with ten thousand lashes. If he survives, we will see to the rest of the punishment,” Leviathan said, and the transmission cut just as the general was dragged away.

“Such a bore, isn’t he? That Leviathan…” Beelzebub said with a giggle as she reclined back into her seat.

“He chose the wrong side,” Satan grumbled, and Beelzebub nodded.

“And how goes your side of the plan?” Beelzebub asked.

“It goes well; we are pushing into the lands of Pride and Sloth. Both of their armies have faced off against me and are being beaten back rather easily,” Satan said as he idly tapped on the armrest of his chair.

“Hmm… well, it is rare for you to pick a side. I suppose you once entertained the idea of ruling the seven rings,” Beelzebub mused as she crossed her legs.

“Once…” Satan replied as he gave Beelzebub a cool stare. Beelzebub couldn’t help but smirk but gave him a conceding nod. For all of his flaws, having an overinflated ego was not one of them. After all, his other half in the Pride Ring has all his… well… pride.

Satan was a demon of pragmatism and cold vengeance. If he wanted you dead, you would be dead at some point. He was willing to do almost anything to have your head on a pike. It was this trait that inspired the fear of the common rabble. If Satan wanted to kill you, he would kill you. There was no running from the Daemon Prince of Wrath.

“The Firstborn will win, and Morningstar will return,” Satan said matter-of-factly.

“Hmm, I wonder how many will switch sides. Asmodeus is with us, albeit half-heartedly. As for the rest, well… they don’t want things to change, and the last thing they want is for Morningstar to return. She would flay half of them to the bone for their transgressions,” Beelzebub replied with a slight twinge of fear at the thought of Morningstar’s return.

“Yes, Morningstar neither forgives nor forgets.” Beelzebub said as a twinge of worry crossed her face. In truth, she would not even entertain the notion of restoring Magne Morningstar without the Firstborn returning to rein her in, provided he could. The bottom line was that all of them were complicit in her imprisonment. But Morningstar was a Firstborn Loyalist; she exalted the old gods, and the Searing Hell’s participation in the rebellion was a point of great displeasure for the Prime Evil.

The fact is, she was outvoted, and she tried to resist, but in the end, events culminated in her being imprisoned before the war against the Firstborn was even over. Beelzebub didn’t directly participate in the revolt, but she did little to stop it either.

At the time, it almost seemed poetic that the old order of the Searing Hells fell along with the Old Gods. But now? Well, the old world was returning, and Morningstar was not known for her mercy. When she returned, there would be purges, and Beelzebub was pulling every resource and favor she had to make sure she did not end up on that long list that Morningstar would no doubt draw up.

“You think she will let us go?” Beelzebub asked out of the blue. She didn’t name who she was talking about, but Satan knew exactly who she was referring to.

"I don’t know… but better to try to ride the tide than fight it.” Satan grumbled.

Let us just hope the Firstborn’s deception works…Nôv(el)B\\jnn

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.♚.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Alright, it’s time. I have a foothold in Treachery, which means it’s time to move on to conventional warfare and a bit of deception. We need a way for my Hive to make an appearance without causing too much suspicion.

I previously requested past records on the Infernis Mine, which was part of the plan. I was surprised to learn that Beelzebub has never actually taken that mine, which I just blew up, in all of recorded history. In fact, she never tried; it was almost like she was avoiding it. The real reason was that it was extremely difficult to defend, which is why it had such a large fortress on it. That mine was one of those that frequently changed hands because of its exposed position.

So, I decided to use this little detail to spin a little lie. I told Beelzebub not to attempt to take the mine in the aftermath. Yes, she signed the contract, but I told her to leave it alone. This would raise a few eyebrows because she would essentially be abandoning an investment. Yes, the mine was exploded, but it could be excavated again to get more ore. Thus, the idea was that Beelzebub knew something was there, that something went wrong in the raid. This would also explain why, now as we speak, Beelzebub is shoring up her defenses in the direction of the mine when there is nothing there, or at least it looks like there’s nothing there.

Even now, some members of Leviathan’s Envy Ring are trying to set up a camp around the mine in an attempt to get it back in working order. Boy, are they in for a surprise…

Let’s have some fun, shall we? I switched to a spare body I had made. This one was not a humanoid form but a monstrous one. The humanoid body was designed for infiltration. This one was made in case I needed to wreak some serious havoc and wasn’t around to cause the chaos myself. All my spare bodies are never designed for a normal Hive creature to inhabit; the bodies are so powerful that to give one a mind would almost guarantee rebellion. I could transform my original body, but making a faux body was more efficient, as I would require several hours to complete the transformation and another few hours to switch back. Although I seem to be able to change more things on the fly, perhaps one day I will be able to change my entire body at will. Technically, I could use my original body, but that would let everyone know that the Great Beast of the Elysian Woods was in Hell, and I can’t have that. So for now, I’ll stick to these secondary bodies for more specific tasks.

This body looms like a nightmare made flesh, standing on six gnarled, insectoid legs that end in hooked claws as thick as tree trunks. Each leg is covered in dark, cracked chitin, with spikes protruding at random angles, tearing into the earth with every step. Its red, armored carapace appears almost molten, as if barely cooled from the fires of some infernal forge, with rivulets of ember-like light seething through its cracks from the Infernis infusion. Massive, jagged scythe-arms jut from its sides, each as long as several wagons and lined with serrated edges, capable of rending stone and bone alike with a single swipe.

My eyes gleam like pits of burning coals, set deep within a grotesque, skull-like head that seems to sneer with malevolent hunger. From its gaping maw, needle-thin fangs jut out at every angle, each glistening with the remnants of past kills. Spikes and ridges run down its spine, each tipped with a burning, toxic glow, while its back ripples with pulsating veins that pulse with a sickly, sulfurous light. The air around it reeks of sulfur and scorched earth.

This was, in all intents and purposes, a terror weapon, a weapon only I could control.

I took control and gave it a little shake, checking if everything was working fine. So far, so good. Now, time to cause some havoc.

I started burrowing toward the surface, my many limbs making quick work of the soil and the secretions from the body helping to stabilize the tunnel. When I burst out of the ground, the entire camp froze as they looked up at me. Funny how this happens almost every time; the stunned silence never gets old.

Alright, that’s enough. I raised one of my claws and took a swipe at a nearby pair of demons. They tried to dodge, but this body was fast. My claws flashed, and the two demons ended up in four pieces.

Then, a mad scramble of actions erupted around me. A hasty fireball struck me, but the blast just glanced off the armor without a scratch.

I felt that old, feral joy start to creep up inside me, and I charged. I didn’t need any help. The goal was to cause chaos, and I love myself a bit of chaos. All I needed was the Hive to be spotted later. Ah, this was just like the old days. Reminds me of that bandit camp I ripped through when I was just starting out.

I moved through the camp like a force of nature, each step sending tremors rippling through the earth beneath me. The fragile tents, scattered supplies, and hastily constructed defenses trembled, then buckled and collapsed, crushed beneath my claws as I advanced. Soldiers darted like insects, their tiny forms scurrying in every direction, but there was no escape. I sensed the heat of their bodies, heard the pounding of their hearts, a song of terror that fed my bloodlust. With a low, rumbling growl, I raised one of my massive, scythe-like arms, and in a single, fluid arc, it descended upon them, slicing through canvas, wood, and steel as easily as air. Bodies scattered in the wake of my strike, flung like ragdolls, their cries of agony rising in a beautiful crescendo that fueled my hunger.

I snatched one of the demons right off the ground with my jaws and bit down, snapping the body at the waist. I swallowed it as more spells struck me, but they did nothing. These common soldiers were way over their heads.

I pressed forward, my heavy, chitinous limbs leaving deep ruts in the soil, littered with shattered armor and splintered wood. I swung my scythe-blades in a sweeping, horizontal slash, catching a line of soldiers too stunned to move. They fell, split and broken, their blood painting the ground in streaks of dark red that glistened against the glow of my carapace. The air thickened with the scent of fear, and the tang of blood sharpened my senses, drawing me deeper into the heart of the camp. Their defenses fell like paper before my strikes; no barrier was strong enough to hold me back, no wall too thick for my serrated edges to tear through.

One brave soldier approached and managed to strike one of my legs. His swing did nothing, so I raised one of my sharp legs and impaled him through the chest. His body went splattering across the ground like a bowl of soup as the size of my clawed feet all but destroyed the upper half of his body.

Ahead, I saw a group of soldiers rallying, desperately trying to form ranks, weapons raised, and eyes wide with dread. I tilted my head, my molten eyes locking onto them, savoring their last flickers of hope. With a snarl, I lowered my body, my claws digging into the earth, and I charged forward, crashing through tents and splintered carts. I swiped one of my bladed arms down upon them, cleaving through shields and armor, feeling the vibration of their bones breaking beneath my strike. I swept through the wreckage, my maw opening to release a deep, guttural roar that drowned out their dying screams.

The fires from shattered lanterns and burning supplies licked at my carapace, casting my shadow long and monstrous over what’s left of their camp. I relished the heat, letting the flames lap at my hardened shell as I pressed deeper into their ranks, now little more than disorganized clusters trying desperately to flee. My back pulsed with a toxic green glow, and from the cracks in my armor, thick fumes seeped out, filling the air with an acidic mist. I watched as the poison took hold, burning their skin, corroding their armour, and forcing them to their knees, gagging and choking on the noxious air.

In the chaos, I sensed stragglers hiding within the shattered remains of a tent, huddled together, hoping to avoid my gaze. I lowered my head, piercing the flimsy shelter with a claw and ripping it open, exposing their terrified faces. They scrambled, falling over one another in panic, but I was faster. My mandibles snapped, and I seized one, pulling him close, savoring his final, broken scream before my fangs crushed through his armor. The others fell as I swept my scythe down, their bodies torn asunder, their blood joining the dark pools soaking into the ground.

I continued my relentless march, leaving only ruin in my wake. The camp was no longer a place of order and strength; it was now a smoldering graveyard, littered with twisted remains and the flickering embers of what once was.

The remaining stragglers were now running as fast as they could, ditching their armor and weapons all in an effort to escape. I suppose this was my cue. I ordered my Hive to emerge, and I spotted a few of the demons looking on in fear as more of my Hive rose from the ground.

That’s right… run, you little insects.

Tell your masters that a forgotten horror has returned to this world…