The Coming of the Demon Lord - Vektor and Krasht

It was dark now, the sun had set long ago, and no moon was out this night to light the way. A beaten dirt road ran through the forest, the only sign that man had trudged its way through this dark domain. A lone figure was left on the road now, hooded in a thick cloak, marching wearily putting one foot in front of the other through sheer force of will.

His name was Dr. Vektor Coltarn, and he was running out of time.

The good doctor, or Vek as some people knew him, had been walking for a long time now, desperation and horror fueling his trek.

The demon was stirring again, the old man’s soul could not hold him much longer, and soon the runes would disappear while he recovered, and during that time Vek would be on his own. He was already stretched thin, much too thin, the demon’s awakening had flooded his dreams with unspeakable horrors, depraving him of sleep for days on end.

Fatigue weighed down on him like iron weights as he struggled on, only one thing giving him hope to continue on for another day.

Sazil......I have to find him.....he has to know a way to rid me of this thing......THERE MUST BE A WAY.....

A light further down the road broke his train of thought as Vek’s sleep depraved mind began processing what he was seeing.

An Inn.....food......company.....bed.....rest....

Vek moved with a quicker pace in his step as the light beaconed to him with the rest he so desperately sought. Gone were his concerns of the Demon Gauntlet stuck to his right arm, as were thoughts of his journey, burnt away by the need for just one good night’s rest on a cozy bed.

An eternity of walking passed before Vek pushed his way into the trading outpost, finding a table next to the fire, which he immediately collapsed onto.

That’s when he felt it, the first sign that IT was coming, a single pulse like that of a heart resonated from his gauntlet, unheard to everyone within the Inn save for Vek. His fatigue addled mind instantly cleared in a moment of pure animalistic horror, as he pulled his gauntleted right up onto the table.

Horror filled eyes instantly fell on the orb embedded on top of the hand, as the red energy contained within began to stir. Swirling slowly at first, the speed gaining rapidly as the druidic runes across Vek’s body slowly receded within his skin an all to familiar and horrifying shape began to form from the energy.

The other patrons of the Inn began to take notice as Vek’s internal struggle took an external turn for the worse, but by then, even if they could have done something it was already too late. As a bouncer stepped forward to throw the trouble maker out, the energy took the shape of a demonic head, mouth open in a roar of triumphant freedom, a noise well beyond the range of a man’s vocal cord. Insanity followed in the wake of the cry, those too close to the epicenter driven mad by the sudden appearance of the demon’s corrupting presence. A swirling black red vortex exploded outwards moments later as the transformation began.

Reddish black energy burned its way across Vek’s body, twisting the human image it had left in its wake into a dark skinned, flamed eye, and white haired demon lord. Soon nothing human was left, as the gauntleted hand reached up and pulled back its hood, reveling......

Bael the Greater Demon stood in the center of Hell, created by the creature’s violent rebirth. He cast his gaze about the shattered and charred remains of the insect’s dwellings, noting the backend skulls of the worms with a deep satisfaction. He fully took in his surroundings now, only partially aware of where his host was when he had taken control.

He stretched his presences out, enjoying the freedom of once again owning flesh, however short lived it would be before the Ancient Insect’s binding’s came back into effect, again. His conscious expanded outwards as he cursed the soul that was his warden once again, before he hit something, something familiar.....

Brothers....

A sinister smile spread across the possessed body of Bael as he turned towards the approaching bearer of darkness stretching his mind out to them....

Come to me.............there is much to be done.........

Brothers....

Come to me.............there is much to be done..........

Agrash was jolted from the normal humdrum of the march. Surprised... Gorechild had not spoken in many millenia. The call of a brother... One he had not heard since the Great Banishment. And he knew that voice.... Oh God's Fall yes! The voice was right. With his return, there was indeed much to be done. And the mortal realm would rue the coming days.

Gorechild must have heard it as well. Even his blood-addled mind must know the significance of that voice.... There was, however, no way he would be able to make his wearer understand.... Perhaps the voice would know a way. He always had. This was going to be fun.... these next few decades. The coming slaughter would dwarf all other wars the mortal realm had ever seen. And the Gods would know fear.

Agrash sighed... this was going to take some work. His wearer was a mighty beast, and very useful. But he was uncontrollable at the best of times. Hopefully he wouldn't simply attack the Daemon at first sight. Agrash liked his current bearer, and had no desire to have him incinerated.

But any efforts would be worth it. The Goals of every Daemon banished since the beginning had just come closer to fruition. Bael Godslayer was back.

The beast lay asleep amidst the fields of destruction, white fur speckled with blood lit up by the forboding moonlight. It was sprawled out where it had finished it's hunt, the blood from the very last victim pooling into the ruined earth, torn apart by the sheer power rippling through the air. Even resting, that power emanated from the hunter with a foul stench of sweat, blood, fire and corruption. That trail of ruin led to a little town beneath the blood red moon.

The wolf snorted in it's sleep and rolled over onto it's back, revealing the scarce remains of clothing and the shredded skin.

Brothers...

Belial awoke with a fierce start, his rage erupting an audible growl at the thought of someone having survived to sneak up upon him. However, the voice was coming from somewhere else... he could hear it in his head. Then he grinned, those rows of teeth clenched tight with terrifying malice. There was a strand of brown hair, somehow out of place, amongst the razor points.

The hunt would be good.

Into the distant forests he ran, swallowing the miles as easily as he had devoured the sacrifice at the end.

Bael’s smile grew as not one, but two of his fellows redirected towards his position, Agrash he recognized from the war, he had served the Deamon Lord Grushk before the great banishment, apparently he was resourceful enough to escape the watchful eyes of the Gods.

Good he shall serve me well

The other two seemed somewhat more difficult to identify, as Bael’s omnipotence beyond him whilst he was still bound to this insect’s shell. One was close enough to Agrash for Bael to guess that the two were companions, which would smooth things over.

The other one however, seemed almost alien to the Daemon Lord, yet the traces of corruption within him were unmistakable daemonic in origin.

No matter, they will serve my purpose admirably, I have my knights.

Bael cast a malevolent eye upon the charred bones of the bar partons scattered about the broken ruins.

And soon I shall have my pawns.....

Agrash marched his wearer towards the location he knew Bael would be. Simple suggestions such as this were quite easy, as his wearer was actually quite pleasant when neither thinking nor killing. He merely input the notion that blood was closest in that direction, and his wearer was off, moving at a surprisingly dogged clip. The problems would begin when they reached the destination.

He believed Gorechild understood the situation well enough to resist tearing asunder all they found at their destination. But he'd once seen his wearer bury Gorechild in a Steel Golem, breaking the automaton in two, and failing to remove it at the time, rip the mage who had animated the automaton into several bloody chunks with his bare hands. He had no illusions that even were Gorechild to not be a viable weapon, any living being would still be in rather dire danger. Expanding his awareness, Agrash found the spot where Bael awaited, awash in a maestrom of Daemonic energy. The Daemon Lord obviously had something brewing. Necromancy perhaps? Bael had been quite fond of that particular Death God trick during the War. But there was something else, approaching at an astonishing speed. And it felt.... he knew that feeling. Duality... confusion... but it was focused somehow.... An avatar of Tirudai was approaching, and it was the one he'd rather not have to deal with. Vaskiar, the Bloodstorm.

With the rising of the sun Belial did not drop his pace, but charged faster across the landscape to evade watchful eyes and the baleful glare of the orb high above him. The moon was in the sky too however, and from that he took comfort and strength. Soon though the wolf could feel the darkness gathering ahead. It's power was such that his heckles rose and he could feel a low growl burning deep withing his throat. Such power could be a threat, and it did not do to charge blindly into a maelstrom capable of tearing a material creature apart.

Slowing down he approached, and in the shadows the beast waited with gimlet eyes watching from a distance.

Over 34 skeletal figures bowed before Bael by the time the ritual was done with. He hated how he was forced to use such lowly things as the insects to accomplish his goals, but his pride would not get in the way of his victory, not this time at least.

With the first part of the ritual accomplished, Bael slammed his gauntlet into the ground, sending a pulse of red energy out that rearranged the runes into a new from.

Words split from Bael's mouth, powerful words, old words, words from before the time of man, the runes glowed brighter and brighter as more words were uttered, until finally the runes exploded inwards, weaving themselves about Bael's form like a whirlwind.

With the power of the runes Bael reached his mind out, searching for the one artifact that could remove the old man's binding's and relieve Bael of the insect's soul. Suddenly he found it, a caravan, saturated in potent magics, and guarded by several of the spell weaving incests.

Bael acted fast, quickly latching a small part of himself onto the wagon the artifact of unbinding was being held in, doing so in such a way as to prevent the incests from noticing it was even there until it was too late.

His task done, Bael reeled himself back, confident he had escaped the infantile sense of the insect spell casters.

Suddenly Bael registered a presence, just out of sight down the road, quickly he turned to face the oncoming threat, dismissing his undead servants for later us with the wave of a hand.

Wrapping himself in daemonic energy Bael, waited for his brethren to join him.

Krasht lumbered through the underbrush, stirring up animal life all around, which ran as though Krasht's mere presence could kill it, which of course, it could. Leaves and brush withered as it brushed his armor, trees growing sickly and rotted as he passed. The path of corruption was quite visible to the naked eye, and Agrash thought sardonicly that his wearer was quite easy to track.

They thundered through the forest, leaving this trail of death in their wake, eventually coming to a road, which they continued along, as from what Agrash could tell, it led to their destination.

Krasht could sense it now. Fire, blood, death. Life. A heartbeat... blood... His corrupted muscles urged themselves onward, hurling him forward faster and faster in anticipation. He hurtled along the road, and almost before he realized it, into a clearing. A figure stood in the middle, pulsing with power. Krasht cracked a grin, his helmet mimicking the gesture in a horrific mockery of life, and charged forward, his axe raised to take a worthy skull.

It was a most strange scene indeed, and he rested for a time, haunches to the ground and head on the top of his paws. Belial bared his teeth in imitation of a grin as the skeletons danced. The dark magic flowed over him soundlessly, and he could feel each little hair on his back stiffen with the foul touch. Yet there was part of him that was honoured to be here, entranced by the unholy beauty of ceremony...

The Vaskiargt licked his lips in anticipation as the warrior burst from the undergrowth. Belial bit down hard as he resisted the urge to howl and join in with the ensuing melee, and it was a struggle that could be clearly seen in his wild, yellow eyes.

((Updated Belial's profile by the by. Did a lot of other stuff too though, so it isn't as fleshed out as some other characters.))

Bael inclined his eye brow in irritation, as an iron clad giant of a man pushed his way through the clearing, leaving a trail of death in his wake. Forest animals scattered away from the creature, mad with terror, unwittingly running into the ever expanding aura of corruption oozing out from the newly rebirth Daemon Lord.

It took barely a moment for Bael to realize that his brethren had entombed themselves within the armor, and it took another moment for his disgust at what they had been forced to do to quell itself.

By this time the lumbering warrior, apparently his brothers had tricked this insect into carrying them on its back, had entered the range of his axe and with the intent of taking Bael's head.

Curious, he seems to retain his own will, yet still serves us...interesting...

Bael paused in his thoughts long enough to bend his body backwards, just barely out of range of the axe attack. It would have been fairly easy for him to overpower the blow if he wanted to, it would be just as easy for him to snuff out the light of the insect's life, but his brothers obviously had other plans for this one.

So he took two very causal steeps back, and waited for his brothers to real their pet back in...

Krasht rushed forward, as the figure in the center of the flames began to retreat. He was actually disappointed. This figure looked weak. Too weak for the aura he presented. It mattered little. Whether the skull was worthy or not, he would take it.

He ran up, and raised Gorechild over his head, bringing it down with a force to shatter steel. The axe fell.... and stopped. The axe rested about half a meter from the figure's face. And no matter what Krasht did, the axe would not move. His Rage built. None of his body would obey him, he could not even drop the axe and crush the figure beneath his fists. WHAT WAS THIS? SOME KIND OF MAGIC TRICK? Nothing was ever this thorough. No spell could stop him like this.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, cutting like an arrow to the logical part of his mind.

"Stop!" said the voice, sounding like it was made by pieces of steel being struck on each other, echoing as though in a cathedral. "This one is not desired by our Lord... look upon him.. and know him!"

Suddenly, Krasht was elsewhere. Krasht looked down, though he noted his head did not move, to see hands that were not his own, and an axe that was not Gorechild. The sky was red, the color of blood, with the clouds seeming to be bleeding, as blood drops rained down on the battlefield, for that was what it was. He looked left and right. A monstrous horde was assembled there. Beasts he knew to be Daemons were arrayed in their awful splendor. But what drew his eye was the spectacle before him. Three massive beings stood at the center of his view. Glorious red flashes obscured much of the closest figure from view. But suggestions of figure could be made out. Wings that obscured the red, dying sun... a tail tipped with a flail.... skin the color of scabs, for he realized that it WAS one massive scab, as though all of the beast's skin had been flayed and scabbed over... wrong-jointed legs that ended in hooves.... horns that seemed to stretch through the weeping clouds... and a massive axe that roared with glee to rival it's master's shouts. The figure directly beyond that one seemed to be cloaked in darkness. It wielded a scythe that seemed screamed as it swung, trying to drown out the roaring of the other weapon. But the wielder of this blade was deathly silent. Another being stood beside this one, though it seemed to be made of light. It wielded a massive broadsword that glowed with a heat so intense that Krasht almost thought he could feel it, though he could feel nothing else.

The black-cloaked figure rushed forward and swept it's screaming scythe low, while the being of light took to the air and brought down it's flaming broadsword. The winged Beast met the scythe with it's axe, and the scythe shattered, and the axe swept forward, spitting itself into the cloaked figure's innards. Meanwhile, it met the fall of the other being with it's flailed tail. The weapon slammed into the being, knocking it back nearly a hundred yards, where it lay at the end of a trench carved by its passing. The scab-skinned Beast drew its axe from the cloaked figure, which feel to the ground, and lit forward, it's massive wings flapping hard, whipping up a dust storm, it's hooves creating craters in the dry, cracked dirt. The being of light feebly attempted to crawl to its feet, but was too late. The Daemon Lord, for he knew it was thus, buried its axe in the skull of the being, which crumbled to the dust, and lay still. The Daemon Lord roared up the sky.

"FEAR ME!" it roared, as though speaking to the sky itself "I AM BAEL! I AM THE GODSLAYER! I AM YOUR DOOM!"

Abruptly, Krasht was back to himself, back in his own body, his axe poised to split the weak thing in half. His eyes widened, and he took a step back. He had regained movement... but he no longer thought rending rending this being was such a good idea. The figure adopted a smug smile. "It is him. It is Bael." rumbled the voice in his head... no... not his head... his armor...

Krasht took another step back and froze. For the first time in his century as a killer, he did not know what to do.

(Sorry! I had a lot of time to think about this >_>)

Bael's eye raised in sort of predatory gesture, as the meat before him, so eager to claim his skull just moments before, now took a steep back and froze stock still. Confusion clouded him so thickly that not even the bulk of his armor could hide it from Bael's golden burning eyes.

His brothers seemed to have gotten the insects attention finally, but it seems the truth was too much for the tiny thing's mind.

But Bael was not exaggerating when he said there was much to be done, and the time to do it in was diminishing at a rapid rate, the deal needed to be laid out on the table, and answer was needed NOW!!

Taking matters into his own hands, Bael reached out with his mind, and ever so briefly touched upon the outer reaches of Krasht's thoughts. In that instant, the future, as Bael envisioned is, was laid out before him.

Torched and burned landscape as far as the eye could see, a blacken sun rising high into the sky, charred bones littering the ground stretching out to the horizon, blood raining from the sky itself...

And in the distance, a perpetual mountain of skulls, arranged to form a throne, swallowed the landscape, dwarfing even the tallest mountains with its height...

And immobile on this throne, sat a truly massive figure, shrouded in darkness, despite the light of the dead sun above...

And as soon as it was there, the vision was gone, and reality reasserted itself. Bael spared a withering glare for this reality, casting his eyes about, turning the ground around him as black as death as he reflexively brought his power to bare in a vain attempt to just... deny this world out of existence...

His aggression alleviated only slightly after all that was once living in the area surrounding him, was dead. And with an intense predatory glance towards Krasht, he laid his cards on the table.

"If you wish for that to come to pass... then come... we have much to do and little time to do it in... and before it is over, all skulls will adorn the skull throne..." he said, in a voice far to powerful for his frail human body to make...

With that Bael turned and began his trek down the road, knowing Krasht would ethier fallow after him, or try to kill him again, ethier way Bael WOULD tear this reality around him down and rebuild it as it SHOULD have been.

Anything that got in his way, was ultimately irrelevant...

Bael nam Grushk.

The words echoed about his mind like the peeling of the many church bells he had heard in his life. And they heralded perhaps even more slaughter. A world of death, fire, and blood, his for the making, his for the breaking, his for the taking.

Blood for the Blood God
The Thirst we slake

He knew Great Things were coming to pass, his purpose was rearing its head, off in the distance. His century and a half of blood-drunk slaughter, all building up the next glorious decade of carnage the likes the world hadn't seen in millennium, and if he had a say, never would again.

Skulls for the Skull Throne
That we take

An avatar of the Blood God himself stood upon the Earth, and the land itself for cry out in terror before long. The world stood upon a precipice, and we would be the lever that threw it over the edge.

Blood for the Blood God
For which we fight

It was no choice at all. He bent his armored form to one knee, plates crackling against each other. "What would you have me do, Bloodlord?"

Skulls for the Skull Throne
That show our might