//------------------------------//
// And Their Name Was Legion. . . 
// Story: Guardian 
// by Thule117 
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Silence. Dead. . . uncompromising. . . cold. . . silence. This is what Derran heard as he stood before the group of ponies, he had, despite his short time as a part of their world, come to see as family. The ponies that had given him food, shelter, garments, employment, friendship, and love, purely out of the goodness in their hearts. It was a group that Derran treasured more than he had any other for over a millennium, and it was the same group to whom, he had just admitted to being a murderer. . . 

At the moment, all Derran saw in their eyes were tears, and a desperation born of not wanting to believe the truth he had shown them. Before now, only Celestia, Luna, and more recently Starlight, had been privy to this aspect of his past. They had not judged him for it, but then. . . the Seraphim never judged. Starlight had perhaps forgiven him, or maybe she simply felt a misplaced sense of loyalty to him after his saving of her life. Either way, it didn't matter now.

Derran braced himself. Already he could see the shock wearing off, and the faint beginnings of fear and anger flickering in the eyes of those before him. It was fine, Derran understood, they had every right to condemn him, and he would raise no objection to it. However, it was at this precise moment in time, that Starlight, whom to this point had been staring at the ground with her jaw clenched, as though struggling to restrain some terrible fury, spoke. . .

"BULLSHIT!!" She roared, her head snapping up, eyes alight with the flames of righteous indignation. "Tell them the rest!!" Starlight all but screamed, as those surrounding her stared at her in unconcealed shock. Marching forward in a near blind rage, Starlight glared right into Derran's surprised face with tear stained eyes. "Tell them the whole story!!" She demanded, her voice echoing through the clearing and into the forest beyond.

"Starlight?!" Twilight exclaimed, bewildered at her apprentices behavior. "What are you-" Starlight ignored her teacher completely, cutting Twilight off as she continued her rant.

"Whatever mistakes you made back then, you more than made up for it!!" She shouted, even as she started to cry, stumbling over her words, as she struggled to speak through a tide of anger and sadness. "I-If y-you end the story h-here, I'll n-never f-forgive you!" Breaking down completely, Starlight soon became utterly inconsolable, as Twilight and the others tried to comfort her. It took nearly twenty minutes before Starlight was calm enough to speak again, and to explain, in clinical detail, about the night she had forced her way into Derran's mind. Reciting the story at a fevered pace, she concluded it with a brief explanation of the flashes of memory she had gotten from her spell. "So you better tell them the rest! Because if you don't, I will!" She shouted indignantly at Derran's still standing form. For quite awhile, nopony said anything, then Applejack let out a low whistle.

"Boy howdy, that was one humdinger of a confession." She declared with a small, awkward smile.

"No kidding." Twilight deadpanned, giving her apprentice a disapproving glare.

"I'm guessing there's another lecture on the proper use of magic in my future?" Starlight asked meekly, as she finally managed to calm down. Twilight nodded with a frown, glaring down the end of her nose at her protege.

"And then some. But first. . ." She trailed off as she faced Derran. Who met her gaze with a carefully controlled  expression of neutrality. "Derran. . ." She began, pausing as she weighed her words. "I'm not going to pretend what I just saw hasn't upset me, or that I condone in any way something that horrible, but. . ." Here Derran stopped Twilight with an upraised hand.

"Milady, before you speak. . ." He interjected, his expression one of well concealed worry, while his tone gained a note of faint pleading. "I can handle you saying you understand. I can handle you saying you are angry. I could even handle you saying you despise me for the actions I have taken. But please, I beg of you, in the name of the exalted Light. . . do not say you will forgive me!" Twilight was surprised by the tone of Derran's voice. It almost sounded like he was afraid of the very idea of forgiveness. Twilight stared at Derran for a moment before continuing, deciding it was not worth questioning.

"I was going to say: I want to hear everything before I decide what I think of all this." She explained. "More than that, whatever kind of stallion you may have been twelve hundred or so years ago, I think it's more than fair to say that you've changed." Cadence stepped forward, nodding her agreement as she added her two bits.

"Derran, you saved all of Ponyville, an entire town full of complete strangers. You can say it was for duty, or because of an obligation. But even after knowing you for only a few days, I'm certain that the biggest reason, is that you genuinely care about everypony." Cadence gave Derran a sympathetic look. "I don't think any of us will argue that you haven't made terrible mistakes, but I agree with Twilight, I refuse to believe you are the same stallion now, as you were back then." This pronouncement was accompanied by everypony nodding their head in agreement, as Derran gave a small, but grateful, smile. He may not have wished their forgiveness, but, and despite the selfish nature of the desire, he still dearly wanted their friendship. 

"Now, please tell us the rest of the story Derran. What happened next?" Twilight asked gently. Derran nodded.

"The tale from the current point to the next relevant one, is far in excess of what I have time to tell. Therefor, I shall endeavor to summarize as best I can." Taking a breath, Derran steadied himself for a moment before launching into a verbal description of events. "At Michael's recommendation, we moved across what remained of D'nur. . ." As Derran spoke, Celestia and Luna subtly altered the proiectura anima, allowing a sort of slideshow/highlights reel, to begin displaying itself in the mist above Derran's head as he spoke. Currently it showed Derran and his army of followers, moving across the blasted wasteland of their former world at a steady march. "We made for the remains of the capitals of the mightiest civilizations of our planet. We sought to unite all that was left of the great kingdoms under our banner. . . 
From the north, we gathered soldiers of the seafaring union of Brithos, and the tribal kingdoms of Odinia." The mist swirled to reveal views of these kingdoms as they must have been before D'nur's destruction. One image, was of massive cities perched on great islands of sheer rocky cliffs, from who's harbors sailed mighty ships of glimmering silver and gold, that levitated above the waves on magic, as often as they sailed on them directly. The other kingdom was shown as being made up of gigantic stone fortress's, jutting from snow capped peaks, that towered over cities at the edges of massive rivers and fjords, or that seemingly erupted from the centers of titanic old growth forests of oak and pine.
"From the east, we were joined by the great warrior clans of the land of Shido. As well as the Sultan Kingdoms of Tibak, and the great Empire of Izulos." The mists showed a land of forests, fields, and carefully tended rice paddies, with colossal pagoda-like castles, that seemed to be nearly the size of mountains. Then the view shifted to mighty onion spire crowned palaces, looming over sprawling kingdoms surrounded by rocky, sun baked desert. Finally, Derran's audience beheld a land of rolling hills and seaside cliffs. filled with great marble temples and tile roofed mansions, that vaguely reminded them of Cloudsdale.
"From the south we attained recruits from the formidable mystic warriors of Pharos, and the jungle soldiers of Afera." Derran explained as the images shifted. 
Now the ponies beheld a true architectural wonder, in the form of massive, floating golden pyramids, hovering above mighty cities positioned in a veritable ocean of sand. Then they saw a jungle that seemed to stretch to the horizon, where dozens of trees, twice the size of even the tallest skyscrapers, stood covered in shining artificial structures, hover cars buzzing around them like hundreds of glittering wasps.
"And finally from the west, we recovered the soldiers of the Union of Amera, and the Najvos nations." Now great grasslands and forests, similar to Derran's homeland were shown, cities filled with skyscrapers rising from the land, as if to spear the stars from the heavens. This view then switched to colossal structures carved out of red sandstone, amid breathtaking desert canyons and gorges, through which flowed glittering rivers of turquoise blue.
"Some joined us by choice, some by necessity, and others by conscription."Derran explained as the view within the mist displayed countless humans of every shape and size. Unlike ponies, their coat, or rather, 'skin', color was not terribly prismatic, simply varying shades of dark and light. The darkest having skin like ebony, while the lightest were almost alabaster, most however, fell somewhere in between the two. Their hair color was a bit more varied, displaying shades of blond, black, brown and red. Their eyes had the most variety, from blues and greys, to green, and even yellow or black, on occasion. "It was nearly a year before we felt we had sufficient power to begin our search for the lords of Hell in earnest, and every day was a battle just to stay alive, against the demons, and the horrors of Hell itself. Indeed, one of our most trying crisis, came when we ran out of proper food and water. In Hell, neither edible plants nor water exist naturally, or at least, not in a form that humans can ingest." As he paused for a moment, Derran's audience looked at each other questioningly before glancing back at him. 

"How in Equestria did you manage to survive?" Asked Spike, sounding slightly hesitant. Derran gave a grim chuckle as he replied.   

"Ultimately, we were forced to sustain ourselves by eating the flesh and drinking the blood of the very monsters we fought." Derran's audience stared at him in horror at that, and he shrugged. "It was either that, or cannibalism, we chose the lesser of two evils." He explained. The ponies struggled to control their expressions. At the logical level, they all knew Derran's solution was the only real choice, but it was still rather disturbing to think about him eating the creatures they had seen him fighting.

"I can't believe you were able to survive on such. . . atrocious fare." Rarity commented, her stomach tying in knots at the thought. Derran gave a humorless smile.

"In truth lady Rarity, neither could we. Most were convinced that the demons flesh would prove toxic. As leader, I was actually the first to attempt to consume it." Shaking his head at his audiences expressions, Derran gave another grim sounding chuckle. "A fair number of my would-be brothers, actually took wagers on how long I would survive. And even I was a bit surprised when I awoke the next morning." He explained, displaying a smile that, again, betrayed no real joy. Twilight made a face.

"They actually bet on your life?! That's disgusting!" She declared, outraged. Derran shook his head. 

"Do not judge them too harshly Lady Twilight, for the first year or so of the army's existence, I was far from a popular leader. Many of my warriors joined far less willingly than those you saw earlier. Though there was a substantial group that were truly dedicated to the cause, many joined simply because they had nowhere else to go, or because I forced them to. Making them choose between fighting with me, or being left to die." Twilight's expression fell, as her memory instantly returned to the horrific moment when she had seen Derran kill an innocent man, after essentially stealing his, and his family's, only hope for survival. With a slight pain in her heart, Twilight realized that many of the soldiers Derran had led back then, likely had all the reason in the world to hate him. "How different would our relationship be, if I had known Derran back then?" she wondered, as Derran continued. 
"During those days I endured constant challenges, and even a few assassination attempts, retaining control more through fear than anything else. However I digress . . . It was a year and a half after our army began forming, that we discovered the location of one of the lords of Hell. Specifically the third, out of the nine rumored to exist. . . Etzarak the Profaner of Eternity. The battle to reach him was bloody, though far from the worst we would endure, but eventually, we managed to force our way through his army, and into the unholy spire that was his lair. . ." Trailing off, Derran once more returned to his cross legged position before the carved stone monument, as the mists of the Soul Projection spell, swirled. 





Derran stood at the now broken entrance of the so-called 'Everspiral Tower'. A twisting malformed mass of bone, flesh, and a peculiar iron common to Hell, that Derran suspected was somehow distilled from blood. The tower was about one hundred fifty, to one hundred seventy or so feet high, with a flat, crenelated top, reminiscent of those Derran had seen built by humans. Across the tower's uneven, oddly angled surface, were pulsing red and green growths, that crackled with mystical lightning, while fleshy veins, glowing a deep purple, spiderwebbed across everything. The entire structure was undeniably disturbing to gaze upon, and looked as much grown, as built. 

Around Derran the battle still raged, his hundreds of thousands against the innumerable lesser servants of the archdemon sorcerer. It had taken weeks for the Pharosian scryers and Tibakian mystics to pierce the veritable fortress of illusion protecting Etzarak's tower's exact location, but it had been well worth it. Arrogance had led the creature to think nothing would ever be able to undo his malign magics, or perhaps he felt his army mighty enough to win even if his wards were dispelled. As Derran listened to the screams of dying demons, drowning out the cries of dying men many times over, he reflected Etzarak had been wrong either way.

"Hey boss," Came a rough, soft spoken, almost bored voice. It's tone bearing a hint of mischief, and a faint, well hidden accent to it. "the shinobi have returned from their scouting. The tower appears to go up forever, we're pretty sure it's another damn illusion." Derran glanced down at the man who had spoken, the current leader-elect of the soldiers gathered from Shido, Musashi Yamoto. His face was currently hidden behind the elaborate snarling face mask of his dirty and damaged, but still functional, suit of Shido power armor. Like most manufactured equipment the army carried, suits of functional magetech armor were becoming rarer almost by the day. Unable to make fresh part's with magic, despite their best attempts, they could only maintain the suits they had with parts scavenged from the dead. Derran's suit too, was showing significant wear, despite its ability to somewhat repair itself. With a sigh, Derran reflected they would soon need to find alternatives to their current protective gear. He growled to himself in irritation, as he considered it would not be the first thing they had needed to replace, as almost no one had a functioning firearm any longer. Explosives were nonexistent, and their medical equipment was reduced to what few healing spells they could get to work in this wretched pit. After a few moments, Derran was broken from his train of thought, by Musashi clearing his throat, the sound quickly drawing him back to the present.    

Derran had initially thought Musashi a strange choice for a representative. He was lazy, indifferent to authority, and voiced complaints loudly and often. Derran had initially assumed it had been intended as an insult on behalf of the warriors of Shido, until he realized the truth. 
Musashi was far more than the wastrel he pretended to be. He was a gifted speaker when needed, a tactical genius, and was a swordsmen so skilled that Derran had seen him slay over a thousand demons all on his own. Complaints Derran originally thought were challenges to his authority, were actually sound tactical advice. Constant minor brawls with the men were calculated to encourage a sense of alertness, relieve tension, and keep the soldiers heads in the game. Added to all that, was the fact that Musashi also happened to be the holder of the katana Hellbane known as 'Justice'. That he claimed to have stolen from the vault of a noble he had disliked. All-in-all, Derran could care less about his disrespectful tone, as long as he continued to be so valuable a military asset.

"We are certain that these. . . scouts of yours, are reliable?" Asked a deep, formal voice, with a strong Izlosian accent. Turning, Derran glanced over at the representative chosen by Izulos, one of the most enthusiastic groups to join his little crusade. Leonidas, holder of the gladius Hellbane 'Mercy', was a man whom seemed to embody the idea of duty. Standing in well worn golden armor, with a damaged crimson plumed helm forged in the shape of a roaring lion, he was, if anything, the polar opposite of Musashi. Leonidas believed utterly and completely in strict adherence to rank and protocol. He and his men practically oozed discipline. Drilling and training whenever the opportunity arose, the result being that even the civilian militia from their homeland, had been transformed into a potent fighting force.

Not long after seeing this practice, Derran declared that every group of soldiers and civilians in the army should train with one another. It had been a chaotic mess at first, until he had put Leonidas in charge. Thanks to Leonidas's near preternatural skill with organization, logistics, and broader military strategy. Derran's nomadic hoard of barely disciplined rabble, was starting to function as a true military, even if only just. Truth be told, many still resented taking orders from Derran, or anyone acting on his behalf. In this case, either refusing to drill unless forced, or merely going through the motions, and even with Leonidas's skills, most were still only barely better than cannon fodder.  

Despite all the army Derran had created had been through together, and their supposed dedication to his cause, they were still a long way from what Derran knew they needed to be. Morale was low, and unity existed only by dint of the few strong commanders who were genuinely loyal to Derran, helping to enforce discipline. That, and the fact that Derran brutally put down all attempts to usurp his authority. Derran did not doubt that desertions would have been through the roof, had there been anywhere else to go. He needed to find a way to gain the men's trust and respect, and he needed to do it soon. An army could be ruled by fear alone for only so long before falling apart. However, more even than that, Derran needed the men to believe they could win this war before their inevitable end. He needed to prove that he was not merely seeking a madman's death, and that they in fact could defeat the supposedly invulnerable Lords of Hell in their own territory. This battle, above all else, would determine whether Derran and his army would die pointlessly, or if they would die proudly.   

"I'm certain the shinobi would not have returned to give us false reports." Derran declared warningly, using the proper name for the legendary shadow warriors of Shido. "In all honesty, I am almost disappointed," He continued, cutting off any potential bickering between two leaders who rarely saw eye to eye. "I had assumed the vaunted third lord of Hell would protect himself with something more impressive than a simple parlor trick." Derran declared, grinning sadistically beneath his battered, but still usable, helmet. Truth be told, had they seen their leader's face at that moment, the two men would likely have been slightly surprised, as almost no one, soldier or militia, had ever seen Derran smile. The reality was, that, for the most part, Derran only ever smiled when he was in battle, wading through demonic corpses and gore. He had also stopped using Unmaker most of the time, in favor of a blade of ordinary mage-steel, taken from a deceased would-be assassin. He claimed it was so he would not grow over reliant on Unmaker's power, but in truth, it was because he had come to enjoy the sensation of demonic blood flowing over his armor and skin. And smile or no, the only thing Derran ever took true joy from these days, was killing the denizens of hell as brutally as possible.

"My lord," Came the breathless voice of Michael Santius, as he ran up to the trio. Michael was the only man in the entire army. Derran truly trusted. And one whom, despite his bleeding heart sensibilities, was becoming a truly exemplary soldier, and an able advisor. "I have brought him." He finished with a slight bow, gesturing to a shorter figure behind him. The representative of Pharos, was young, to the point of being almost a boy. Dressed from head to toe in traditional Pharosian war gear, an impressive cross between light blue sorcerer's robes and shining gold and light blue powered armor. An elaborate gold and turquoise helm, resembling a funerary mask, covered his youthful features, making him look far more stern and imposing than he ever could have on his own. Khamun. . . once upon a time, he would have been heir to the entire kingdom of Pharos, bearer of the staff Hellbane Innocence, his symbol of office. Now, he was little more than a common soldier. 

Even so, Derran had to admit the boy certainly pulled his weight. He was a sorcerer and tech-mage of immense power, and Derran had seen him wreak an astounding degree of havoc with but a word and a gesture. He was also a child prodigy, with an intellect that was as versatile as it was vast. All this despite the fact that, to put it bluntly, he had little to no self confidence, and was such a klutz off the battlefield, that at times it was often hard to believe he was as capable as he was. Even as he approached Derran, he stumbled, nearly tripping over his staff in his hurry to reach his leader.

"Y-you a-asked for m-me sir?" He stuttered.

+Dead gods this little shit gets on my nerves. For all the power he has, you'd think he'd be at least a little less pathetic.+ The Beast declared irritably. Derran nodded internally.

"I am inclined to agree, but then he is quite young, and regardless, his value is great enough that it is not worth making an issue of it." Derran felt the Beast shrug.

+Whatever, let's just get a move on, we've been waiting almost a year and a half for this. . . I want to hear that little bitch Etzarak squeal!!+

"Yes. . ." Derran agreed, displaying another cold smile beneath his helmet. "I too look forward to spilling his blood." Derran declared mentally, as he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

"Tut," Derran greeted, using the nickname Khamun typically went by. "There is an illusion blocking the path to our target, can you dispel it?" Tut nodded, moving past Derran, he glanced up the staircase. It was a massive affair, that was as much hellstone, the name they had given the bone like rock that made up most of Hell's solid mass, as bloody, tooth-studded flesh. Standing stock still for a moment, Derran heard the young warrior magi mutter a series of strange words under his breath, before slamming the butt of his staff into the ground three times. The staff, Innocence, was, like all of the hellbanes, a piece of polished black steel, etched with ancient golden runes along the shaft, spelling out it's name. Topped by an odd ring containing a strange star shaped ornament. Ten smaller rings hung from the main one, jingling musically each time the staff struck the ground. Then, as Derran and the others watched, the air shimmered slightly.                                                      

"Is it done?" Derran asked, barely concealing his impatience. Tut nodded.

"It is," He replied in a strained voice. "but the spell is struggling against me, I do not know how long I can keep it down, and I must remain here to keep it at bay." Derran nodded before turning to Michael.

"Santius, protect Khamun while he keeps the illusion down. Musashi, Leonidas, you two are with me, but remember. . ." Derran fixed the two with a gaze so fierce they both took a step back, his eyes blazing red beneath his visor, as his voice shifted it's tone. "That scum-fuck Etzarak is MINE!" So saying, Derran turned to charge up the staircase, A moment later, Musashi and Leonidas followed. As they ran after their leader, Musashi turned to regard his fellow representative.

"Hey Leo? You get the sense that our boss might be a bit off his rocker?" Musashi asked. Leonidas gave a contemptuous sniff.

"I have told you, do not call me Leo unless you wish to meet me in the sparring ring! However, yes, I do often get the sense that our lord is. . . different. But does it truly matter? We are already in Hell, what harm is there in following a madman, so long as he has the strength and conviction to see this through to the end?" Musashi considered the response for a moment, before replying.

"I guess you got a point, no hope left, so maybe our best bet is with a man who's lost a marble or two." He conceded, though privately, in his head, he wondered. . . "But what if his madness goes to far?" Yet even as he pondered the thought, he continued to follow Derran. The man who, at the end of it all, was the only one he could imagine being able to claim a victory in all this insanity. "Besides." Musashi thought with a grim chuckle. "I'm pretty sure declaring war against Hell, is about as 'too far' as you can go."        



+++++++


Etzarak the Profaner of Eternity, snarled, as he felt his final illusion being disrupted. An annoying turn of events, but not unmanageable. Casting his gaze about, he noted the large group of Hell Knights and Barons that made up his elite guard. Their minds subjugated by an ingenious assortment of illusions and beguiling charms. Though there were a few that were genuinely in his service. Typically those among the doomed who had come to him wishing to learn the secrets behind his mighty sorcery, though Etzarak was always careful not to teach them his best tricks. Two of his more powerful disciples stood at either side of him now. They had once been ordinary Barons, but with time and effort, he had turned them into a pair of formidable magi, capable of breaking a mortal mind in an instant, or burning them away physically with eldritch fire. True, their frames were now slightly less robust physically, but that was more than made up for by their mystical abilities. Though, Etzarak made certain to enchant their minds, to ensure total loyalty.

Etzarak had been rather surprised when the army of mortals he had been hearing rumors about, had showed up to camp practically on his doorstep. And he had been very surprised when they had disrupted all of the illusions that had kept his seat of power hidden, even from the other lords of Hell. Yet Etzarak was not worried, no not at all, his power was beyond question, no matter what the other lords may whisper behind his back! How jealous they would be when he arrived on the steps of the Dark One's great temple, with such worthy sacrifices as these impudent mortals souls! Perhaps then, at long last, the Dark One would see fit to speak to his children once more? To gift them with his presence as he had in the eternal war, so many eons ago. Perhaps he would even speak to Etzarak personally! Oh how wondrous would that be? To see the expressions on the other lords faces when Etzarak, lowly, insignificant, weakling, Etzarak, was blessed to hear the voice of the great Lord of Oblivion himself! Etzarak giggled aloud, as he fixed his eyes eagerly on the entrance to his throne room. His slaves were being slaughtered, but in the end, the might of Etzarak would be all that was required. That was what Etzarak firmly believed, right up until the moment when his throne room door was smashed open, and his elite guard began to die.


+++++++
            

Musashi spun in a circle, his twin katanas, the Hellbane Justice, and his old magesteel katana Meiyo, or, as it was said in the common tongue: 'Honor', eviscerating and then disintegrating every demon within reach in a cloud of blood and cinder. Meanwhile, Leonidas set his shoulder, and crashed at full tilt into a number of hell knights put off balance by the trio's abrupt arrival. Before simultaneously stabbing one through the gut with Mercy, and deploying the golden, circular metal shield, that until now, had been concealed in his left gauntlet. Using it to smash another knight's head to one side in a spray of broken teeth and blood. 

As Leonidas and Musashi tore into the enemy on either side of him, Derran charged straight ahead with a roar of absolute fury. Unmaker was still on his back, but it hardly mattered, he didn't need it quite yet. A magesteel longsword was more than enough for the moment. Lightly enchanted, magesteel was lighter, stronger, and more flexible than any ordinary metal, add to that a little extra magic that made sure it never lost it's razors edge, and you had a fine weapon for any occasion. Of course, it was no replacement for firearms, or even hardlight blades and shields, but it was solid and dependable, and more importantly, for his target, it made the pain last. . .

A hell knight roared in agony as Derran cut one of its legs out from under it, before spinning the blade around him to slash through the press of bodies closing in from all sides. He felt his blade bite deep, and then catch on something, likely some unfortunate demon's bones. However, Rather than futilly try to yank the sword loose, Derran reached over his shoulder to grasp Unmaker's handle. Pulling the almighty sword from his back with a single fluid motion. Derran grinned as he swept Unmaker around him in a wide arc. Filling the air with ash and sparks as the demons surrounding him, including the one his primary blade was caught in, were obliterated. His primary sword now free, Derran shot forward to somersault through the legs of a baron of hell, throwing his magesteel sword into the chest of a second baron as he came up into a crouch. Mag-locking Unmaker to his back, Derran pulled a pair of demon bone daggers from his belt, reversing his grip, and jamming them into the knee joints of the baron who's legs he now crouched between. Running forward as he drew Unmaker once more, Derran smiled, as the first baron crashed to the ground, roaring in pain. Jamming Unmaker into the groin of the second baron, Derran deftly caught his magesteel blade in one hand, as the loathsome giant disintegrated, with a roar of pain that sounded an octave or two higher than normal. Pivoting on one foot, Derran's hellbane blazed, as he silenced the hamstrung baron behind him with a desultory slash of its luminous blade. 


+++++++
  

Etzarak the Profaner of Eternity, stared in shock at the scene unfolding before it. It's elite soldiers, the pride of it's mighty army, the cream of the crop, were being cut down like grain in the path of a thresher. This shouldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening! Mortals, defying a lord of Hell?!! The very idea was blasphemous!! 

"You. . . you mortals stop this! STOP THIS AT ONCE!! I AM ETZARAK!! THE PROFANER OF ETERNITY!! I COMMAND YOU!!" As Etzarak shouted, he kept his gaze on the closest warrior, the one whom smelled most strongly of blood and hate, and who was turning Etzarak's best soldiers to dust and severed limbs with every sweep of his swords, as he marched ever closer.

"Is this freak for real?!" Called out the other warrior wielding two swords, as he sliced open the belly of a baron, before whirling around to decapitate a hell knight with his own glowing weapon, that turned both head and body to dust before they could hit the ground.

"I believe that he is!" Shouted back the third warrior, as he used his shield to smash aside a hell knight's punch, before cutting it in half. Then, stabbing another in the gut with a weapon every bit as refulgent as the other two, he impaled a third's head through its lower jaw before the first pair had time to disintegrate.

"I'd laugh, if it wasn't so pathetic!" The first speaker called out, as he slashed several blasts of balefire out of the air with his shining blade. The weapon seeming to absorb the deadly energy like a sponge absorbs water. Etzarak roared, shaking his tower to it's foundation, as he finally began marshaling his full strength. Enraged beyond words that his slaves incompetence had now forced him to intervene directly.

"ETZARAK IS-" There was a flash like a flare going off, and Etzarak's rant died in his throat, as every one of his remaining visible soldiers, fell to literal pieces before him all at once. A voice like terror incarnate now came from the last warrior, currently the only one with a weapon that was not glowing.

"About to die. . ." He growled. 


+++++++


Derran stared at Etzarak with a combination of hate, disgust, and eagerness. The creature was a repulsive combination of serpent and centipede. A massive sinuous body the size of a small house, covered in black and toxic green scales. Was coiled on a colossal throne of scorched black hellstone. Hundreds of inscectile limbs, ending in clawed hands, stuck out from the sides of the monster's body, all the way up to just beneath its hideous head. The bulbous head had a hood, much like a cobra, the top covered with multiple large green eyes the color of infected pus. Beneath which dozens of lamprey-like circular mouths, filled with rings of needle shaped teeth, drooled acidic bile onto the floor, eating it away in mere moments. Eldritch lightning coursed over Etzarak's body, its color constantly shifting as Derran closed with him.

"KILL THEM!!" Etzarak screamed, and Derran was only barely able to summon Unmaker's shield before two beams of blazing multicolored energy exploded against it, in a shower of blinding sparks. The air next to Etzarak shimmered, and two previously invisible monstrosities made themselves known, the beams of energy flowing from the upraised palms of their right hands. The creatures had doubtless once been barons of hell. Their stature and horns told Derran that much. However they had undergone a significant transformation. Their limbs were atrophied, almost to the point of appearing no longer functional. They did not walk, but floated through the air about a foot above the ground, with a disturbing degree of grace. The normally scarlet skin Derran associated with barons, was now a deep electric blue, with the blood in the creatures veins clearly visible, as it glowed a sickly neon green. Finally, and most disturbing, the creatures eyes and mouths, had been sewn shut with thick leather cord. The cord dyed red, by the blood leaking from an unholy rune carved into their foreheads.

"Musashi! Leonidas!" Derran snarled, his voice one of barely controlled hate. "Get these accursed things out of my way!" Almost the instant he gave the command, one of the monsters vanished, a bolt of lightning as blinding as the sun itself, spearing through the ceiling overhead, burning through the demonic stone like a white hot knife through butter. The eldritch beast did not even have time to scream, as it was scoured mind, body, and soul from existence. Flashed to vapor in an instant, by the hidden power of Musashi's Hellbane. As Derran heard the Shido warrior grunt in satisfaction.  

The second mystic baron, barely had time to note the death of it's twin before, with a roar of "FOR THE FALLEN!!", Leonidus crashed into it with his upraised shield, knocking it backward and disrupting its spell. The baron made no sound, as it ceased its attack, steadying itself before swiftly fading back into invisibility. Leonidus was barely fazed however, as he raised his weapon, and a single one of the burning runes spelling out its name, went dark. Immediately, a light rain of pearlescent liquid began falling from the sky, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Derran felt a surge of vitality as the rain washed over him, the few wounds he had incurred thus far, healing instantly. With his fatigue from the battle vanishing, as though he had done nothing more straining to this point, than take a leisurely stroll through a woodland.

Simultaneously, the instant the glittering droplets struck Etzarak, he let out a scream of pure agony. His flesh smoking, as it instantly began to dissolve. Shrieking like a banshee, Etzarak leapt from his throne to scramble through the wall behind it, the illusion shimmering as he passed through, desperate to get out of the range of the horrid drizzle. His final bodyguard was not so lucky, as, unable to escape, it reappeared thrashing in mid air, acrid smoke rising from its hissing flesh. As its skin and bone melted into nothingness, the creature reached up, and with a strength born of pure desperation, tore apart the threads sealing its mouth shut. Letting out a scream so horrible, that Derran thought his ears would burst. Before collapsing to the ground in a rank puddle of rapidly discorporating meat.

"DO NOT ALLOW THAT ABOMINATION TO ESCAPE!!" Derran roared, as he charged toward the mystical wall beyond the throne. With Musashi and Leonidas on his heels, Derran slashed his sword through the barrier, the ancient weapon devouring the tainted magic as easily as it did demonic souls, to reveal a stairway leading even further up.

"How'd that giant bastard get up a stairway this size?" Musashi wondered aloud, as the trio thundered up the steps, taking them two at a time in their relentless pursuit. Had he been able to think beyond his near blinding rage, Derran might have wondered too. The stairway was still plenty large, at least twelve feet wide and tall, but nowhere near big enough to allow Etzarak to get away this fast. As it was however, Derran only cared about one thing, and that was wringing the last breath from the third lord of Hell's broken, bloody, carcass!

It wasn't long before the journey ended, and the mystery was revealed. The top of the Everspiral Tower was far from impressive. About one hundred feet square and made of hellstone. The crenelated three foot high border of the tower peak, looked out over the wastes of the Desert of Insanity, the territory of Hell Etzarak claimed dominion over. There, directly across from the cave-like exit from the stairway Derran, Musashi, and Leonidas stood in, was Etzarak. At first, the trio thought he had shrunk, now only a fraction of his former size, he wasn't much taller than a baron of hell, though his serpentine body was still considerably longer, and the lightning they had seen crawling across his body in the throne room, was missing entirely. 

"So. . . that is the truth of it." Derran growled. "It was all merely another cheap trick." He snarled as he closed on the coiled and burned form of Etzarak. "In the end, the third lord of Hell, is just a worm, playing at being a dragon." The expression on Etzarak's face, if so malformed a creature could be said to have such a thing, seemed to be filled with fear. The three warriors spread out, forcing Etzarak to keep backing away, until his serpent-like body bumped against the edge of the tower's summit. Beyond which was a hundred fifty foot drop into the rapidly winding down melee outside the tower, where Derran's forces had gained a decisive upper hand in the battle. Derran smiled cruelly under his helm. "So what will it be. . . worm?" He asked presenting himself with arms held wide in a mocking challenge. "Die like a warrior?" Here he gestured at the ledge behind Etzarak with his sword. "Or die like a coward?" For an instant, Etzarak seemed to be weighing his choices. Then, suddenly, his head snapped up to glare into Derran's eyes with what seemed almost to be glee.

"Fool. . ." Etzarak whispered, as his eyes suddenly glowed purple, and Derran felt the world implode.


+++++++
 

Etzarak laughed as the three warriors before him fell to the ground screaming. Clawing at their helmets, they didn't even have enough mental fortitude left to recall how to remove them. As their minds drowned in the sensation of reliving every frightening and painful memory they had ever had, magnified thousands of times over. Etzarak laughed even louder as he looked behind him to the scene below his tower, as every impudent mortal that made up this ragtag group of imbeciles, rolled around on the ground screaming their lungs out.

Did these idiots really think one could be a lord of Hell without true power?! Etzarak was a master of deception and the mind. His power could turn entire nations into mindlessly devout zealots dedicated to his worship, or, as he had just demonstrated, inflict mental anguish great enough to bring entire armies to their knees! He had been challenged by countless upstarts, all thinking he would be easy prey as one of the lower ranked lords. It was not the first time Etzarak's throne room had been breached, and it wouldn't be the last. The only reason Etzarak ever even allowed this, or any other invasion, to come this far, was because he had always survived by preventing anyone from seeing the true scope of his power. Even the other lords had no real idea what he could do. Well, except for the ninth, but that hardly counted. 

As he lazily gazed out over the battlements, Etzarak wondered how long it would take before the mortals below, started to die from the mental strain of his spell? Smiling, he made a bet with himself that it would be only five minutes before the first one keeled over for good. He would of course keep most of them alive, once they were properly broken, after all, what good was a sacrifice if it wasn't still kicking? For now however, he would enjoy this delicious moment of victory, as, letting out a satisfied sigh, Etzarak reveled in the symphony of screams welling up all around him. . . Until a voice of pure malice cut through the sound, like a razor through dead flesh.

"Zahn. . . Etzarak!" 

The first sensation Etzarak experienced was one of confusion, as the screams he had been enjoying abruptly ceased. The next sensation. . . was pain. As the lower quarter of his serpent-like body was cleaved away by a blade of magesteel. Etzarak screamed, writhing in agony, he felt what was left of his spasming lower half, brush something behind him. Whirling around, Etzarak froze, his pain momentarily forgotten as he confronted an impossibility. There, standing as though nothing had happened, was the leader of the trio that had cleared out his throne room, his blade dripping with Etzarak's blood.

"H-how?!" Etzarak stuttered, unable to believe what he was seeing. "My power should have-" Etzarak got no farther, as the warrior rushed forward, pulling back his left fist to ram it right down one of Etzarak's throats. 

"Now," The warrior spoke, his tone sounding even more unhinged than it had earlier. "open wide and say ahhhh." The warrior whispered, as he braced his foot against Etzarak's body, and wrenched back his fist, along with the demon bone dagger he had concealed within it. Ripping out the blade like a stubborn hook from the flesh of a fish. Etzarak's scream was loud enough to be heard for miles, as he fell to the ground choking. Blood and acidic saliva poured from his destroyed mouth and esophagus as he struggled to understand what was happening. Meanwhile, the warrior glanced at his rapidly disintegrating gauntlet, before swiftly pulling it off and throwing it aside, along with the now uselessly corroded knife.  

"I'LL KILL YOU! YOU LITTLE MORTAL-" Etzarak was again cut off, as the warrior rushed in once more. Tossing his sword to his unarmored left hand, to draw and stab another dagger into one of Etzarak's multitude of eyes with his right. Before twirling away with an upward slash of his sword, that severed three of Etzarak's arms. 

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, Etzarak the Massively Overcompensating! You're going to do what to me?!" The warrior snarled, in a voice filled with hate, along with a generous dose of sadistic glee. Etzarak roared in pain and fury, charging forward as best he could despite his mounting injuries.

"DIE!!" Etzarak screamed, releasing a spray of acid at the warrior from his uninjured mouths. The warrior only just managed to doge, his helmet grazed by the stream of caustic liquid, as Etzarak summoned the energy for a spell. Only to feel a shock of true terror, when the energy wouldn't come. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF IMP EXCREMENT!!" Etzarak screeched, as he struggled to see the mortal through a haze of blood and pain, only to release a howl of agony, as another chunk of his body was severed from the main mass. Now unable to do anything more than feebly drag himself around with his few remaining arms. Etzarak felt fear eclipse what was left of his rationality. As he realized that he, a lord of Hell, was actually on the verge of death.

"You know I can't replace this helmet right?" The warrior asked coldly, as he removed the slowly dissolving piece of armor and tossed it aside. "So. . . how are you going to compensate me?" He demanded, before bringing his sword down in a brutal arc, to cleave away several more of Etzarak's arms. "Ah, that should cover it." He hissed, as Etzarak screamed and flailed helplessly on the ground. Finally, the warrior walked fully into Etzarak's field of vision, and Etzarak felt himself paralyzed with terror. Two burning red eyes stared into Etzarak's, communicating a hatred that even demons would be hard pressed to match. Accompanied by a smile that comes only from those who truly delight in the pain of their enemies. Was this being even really a mortal? 

"W-what are you?" Etzarak croaked out, the fear in his voice now fully audible. The red eyed mortal moved to stand beside Etzarak, placing both hands on his sword handle.

"What do you think I am?" The warrior asked, hate dripping from every word as his smile was replaced by a sneer of contempt. With his lifeblood pouring out onto the stone beneath him, Etzarak struggled to delay his coming end through sheer force of will. Then, as he lay there, hovering at the precipice between life and death, Etzarak's vision swam. Perhaps it was magic, perhaps it was madness, or perhaps, in the last moments of his wretched life, some greater force in the universe decided to curse Etzarak with a final torment. Whatever it was, the third lord of Hell's vision cleared for a single, devastating, instant. And in that instant, he saw something so terrible, even his shriveled and blackened soul, quailed in utter horror.

He saw the mortal before him, shrouded in black fire, standing atop a pile, no. . . a mountain, of demonic corpses, so large it eclipsed all else around it. Yet even as the ebon flames trailed across his armored form, the mortal did not burn. The flames instead seeming to strengthen him, as he cast his hands skyward. As though he was roaring his dominance over all things to the blood red skies of Hell. Before Etzarak's eyes, the flames flared into a dark nova, utterly obscuring the mortal within. Now, the flames revealed a new shape. . . a towering demon of pure shadow, with eyes of blazing red fire. In Etzarak's head, a voice, at once like the roar of armageddon, and the whisper of the reaper's scythe, spoke within his mind. "For I am the lord of terror, for I am the song of destruction, for I am the fist of omega! The end of all that is known! Hear now the name that shall be your ruin. . ." As the vision faded, and Etzarak's heart seized up in terror, he screamed out in mindless, sanity blasting horror, the name he had heard. Born aloft by the dark energies of the expiring third lord of Hell's fading soul, Etzarak's final words thundered out into the very depths of his former domain. Where for centuries, it would drift, as a whispered horror to all Demons that heard it.     

"DOOM SLAYER!!!" 

The red eyed mortal's eyes widened for a second, though the hate never left them. Before he smiled and raised his sword overhead.

"Doom Slayer. . . I like it." He declared, as he struck Etzarak's head from what was left of his body.


+++++++
     

Musashi got shakily to his feet, just in time to see his boss remove Etzarak's head. One of Derran's gauntlets was missing, as well as his helmet, and Musashi could see a number of what looked like acid burns on his hand and face. However, none of that mattered, as Musashi stared in awe at the corpse before him. Deep down, and as much as he hated to admit it, Musashi had never really believed they would be able to do it. The lords of Hell were supposed to be gods, or at least pretty close to it. He'd heard stories of their power from the few demons they had managed to interrogate, and all of them claimed that the lords of Hell were all but invincible. To hear the demons tell it, the lords had been in charge ever since the Darkness fled the Light's champion, ending the eternal war. For eons they had survived in the most hostile dimension in existence, endlessly fighting wars among themselves. Never had one died, of violence, disease or old age, and they had slaughtered an uncountable number of demons and mortals alike. So long had they reigned, that many had thought they were indestructible. . . until now.

"By the Light. . . he actually did it." Leonidus declared, his tone one of shock and disbelief as Derran bent down and hefted Etzarak's head above his own. Proceeding to the battlements, he displayed the head for all below to see, and roared. His soldiers, now recovered from their ordeal, and having mopped up the few remaining demons at the base of the tower, stared. 

"BEHOLD THE HEAD OF THE THIRD LORD OF HELL!! ETZARAK THE PROFANER OF ETERNITY!! SLAIN BY MORTAL STEEL IN SINGLE COMBAT!! BEHOLD THE DEATH OF FEAR!!" Musashi and Leonidas watched with rapt attention as, with a mighty heave, Derran cast the head off the edge of the tower. To splatter at the feet of his warriors, who now stared up at him in awe. "WITH THIS VICTORY, WE PROVE THE MIGHT OF OUR CRUSADE!! WITH THIS KILL, WE PROVE THE LIE OF HELL'S INVINCIBILITY!! TODAY I TAKE THE NAME ETZARAK GAVE TO THE BRINGER OF HIS END!!" Here Derran tore Unmaker from his back, raising it high into the air. "I AM THE DOOM SLAYER!! AND YOU MY BROTHERS!! ARE!! MY!! LEGION!!!" At this pronouncement, the entire army, young and old, male and female, soldier and militia, wounded and unhurt, roared their approval. . .


+++++++


Derran stumbled into the cavern Michael had led him to. It wasn't much, just a deep depression in the side of a hellstone cliff. Not far from where his newly christened legion had just finished demolishing the Everspiral tower, as well as the rest of Etzarak's fortress. Not much at all, but it was shelter enough for the moment. Soon they would need to move on, no doubt even now, the other lords of Hell were receiving news that one of their number had been slain. After eons of ruling with the presumption of invincibility, they could not afford to let this challenge go unanswered.

Derran collapsed onto the floor of the cave, after forcing himself to stand for hours in the presence of his proclaimed brothers. Struggling not to display the true toll the battle had taken on him, he had barely been able to stay on his feet, as the warriors around him swore their eternal loyalty. As always, it had been Michael who saw the truth first. He had hurried Derran out of sight with a vague statement about planning the next phase of the operation. Invoking Derran's new title, he ordered the Legion be made ready to move within the hour, leading Derran to the cavern he now resided in, just before his legs gave out. No words were exchanged between them, as Michael took position to guard the mouth of the chamber from prying eyes, but none were needed.  

Derran wanted to cry, and to scream, to roar his pain to the heavens as he punched his knuckles bloody against the unyielding stone beneath him, but he couldn't. Barely able to raise a finger, his mind was an endless fog of pain and misery, every fiber of his corporeal being, burning with the efforts of his exertions. Every muscle feeling as though it was being jabbed with thousands of white hot needles. While in his fevered mind he replayed the events of the last few hours through his agonized fugue state.  

It had not taken long for the story of what had transpired atop Etzarak's tower, to spread throughout the Legion. The story of how Derran had gone untouched by the spell that had nearly slain them all. Of how the newly christened Doom Slayer, had resisted the magic of a god, and then struck it down with nothing more than an ordinary D'nurian sword. The story, confirmed by Musashi and Leonidas, had been spread to every ear, thanks to the efforts of Michael Santius. No doubt Derran's young lieutenant saw the advantage in making the Legion's commander seem larger than life. However, as with so many such stories, the tale was far more complicated than it first appeared to be.

The truth was, Derran had not escaped Etzarak's spell by dint of inhuman willpower, divine protection, or even just blind luck. In fact, Derran had not escaped it at all. Like every other soldier in the Legion, his mind had been torn from reality and thrust into an unending nightmare of torment beyond human conception. There, he had, among innumerable other horrors, relived the deaths of his family thousands of times over. The cycle repeating in ever more terrible ways each time, over a period that had seemed to stretch on for eternity. Only after Etzarak had been placed at the threshold of death, had Derran returned, to find the Beast had won the day. Derran had watched from inside his own head, as the Beast had beheaded Etzarak, and then given his speech to the enraptured soldiers from atop the tower. 

+Oi, you still alive?+ The beast demanded, breaking Derran from his thoughts, his cold voice showing no real concern.

"I will live. . . tell me though. . . how is it you resisted Etzarak's enchantment?" Derran asked, struggling to form the words in his barely coherent mind, but wanting to know the answer just the same. Derran felt the Beast shrug.

+No idea. All I know is, after you went down, bawling like a candy-ass pansy, I knew someone had to save our collective hide. So I took command of the driver's seat, slammed my boot down on the clutch, shifted into full kick-ass, and a few top notch one liners later, there we were.+ Here the Beast shifted from a self-satisfied tone, to one that sounded resentful. +I did need to lean on you a bit for that fancy speech I gave, I still can't believe these people buy in to all that heroic bullshit. They do know where we are right?+ Derran might have laughed, but at that moment, the funniest joke on D'nur would have failed to make him smile.

"Heroism is an illusion true enough, but that illusion still managed to unite us all under a common banner. So that is at least one mark in its favor." Derran replied. Again, Derran felt the Beast shrug.

+Whatever.+ He declared dismissively, as Derran tried to rise, and a lance of pain shot through his entire body, instantly returning him to the ground. The Beast shook his head. +Not that I particularly give a fuck, but you're not in any condition to move just yet.+ Derran actually managed a humorless chuckle as he lay prostrate on the ground.

"I have no choice. We need to put at least half a day's march behind us, before the other lords descend upon this place. I can rest once that is done." The Beast made an exasperated sound inside Derran's head.

+Fine, gimme the controls, I can manage the pain a fuck of a lot better than you can.+ He declared. Derran, too tired to give it a second thought, gave a mental nod as he allowed the Beast to assume full control of his body. The sensations of physical pain fading markedly as he did so.

"As you say Beast." Derran mentally declared, as his body gingerly picked itself up off the ground.

+Whatever, just remember that when it comes to talking I'm gonna pull from you, just like you pull from me for the fighting, capeesh?+ The Beast demanded. Derran gave a nod, as he drifted through the darkness of his subconscious. +Good, and two more things. First off, from now on, I'll take care of the heavy lifting around here. At the rate you're going you'll burn out before we even really start.+ Again, Derran nodded, unable to see any real reason to disagree. +Good. Second, I'm not the Beast, the bow tie, or the jumping jingle fuckberry man!+ The Beast snarled. +I, am the Doom Slayer. . . .+





Derran opened his eyes to the rapt gazes of his friends, considering each in turn. Twilight wore an inscrutable expression, no doubt still trying to process the earlier revelations about his past in addition to these new ones. Cadence and Shining wore similar looks, seemingly unsure of what to think of anything. Rarity and Applejack looked sympathetic, while Fluttershy and Spike seemed slightly apprehensive. Celestia and Luna looked worried, they hid it well, but clearly they were no more certain of how the others would react to Derran's continuing story than he was, and it obviously weighed on them. Rainbow's expression was the only one that looked out of place, she seemed. . . disappointed. 

"Huh, with how dangerous you made these 'Lords of Hell' sound, I was kinda expecting more of a fight." She stated, her tone contemplative.

"Rainbow!" Twilight exclaimed, her face a mask of shock at her friend's apparent callousness. "Derran almost died in that battle! And who knows how many of his soldiers gave their lives for that victory!" Derran gave a bitter chuckle, cutting off Rainbow's reply, and once more turning all eyes to him.

"In all honesty, lady Dash's observation is not far from my own thoughts at the time." The ponies looked at Derran in confusion.

"No offense Derran, but it looked like a pretty hard fight to me." Shining remarked. Derran shook his head.

"Not when you consider all of the things that went in our favor. Etzarak's army was far from large, and most of them were little more than puppets designed to follow preprogrammed commands. Etzarak had gone so long without needing to truly fear for his safety, that he had ceased maintaining his army properly eons ago. Though, oddly, and despite his delusions of invulnerability, he was still quite paranoid. He maintained no generals, and his elite guards were restricted to only those demons he could control without the slightest possibility of them challenging him. He relied almost exclusively on his magic, and I very much doubt it even occurred to him that there might be an enemy with the power to negate that advantage. I do not think he even believed we could find him, until we were quite literally beating down his front door." Shining nodded slowly in understanding.

"So basically. . ." He trailed off.

"My brothers and I got absurdly lucky." Derran confirmed. "We charged in with little to no plan, we did no real reconnaissance until we were already inside, and we had no command structure beyond elected representatives who shouted orders at the members of their respective countries and hoped they listened. The most I ever did to that point to instill discipline, was order some basic training be done. Leonidas helped me imposed some degree of organization, and it kept us from falling apart. But it was only after the victory over Etzarak, that true discipline, and an effective chain of command developed. Thus finally allowing our force to gain the strength it required." Suddenly Spike looked at Derran in confusion.

"Wait, I thought half the army hated you?" Derran chuckled.

"You would be amazed how quickly you make friends when you personally behead a demon god." He remarked dryly. "After that day, my authority was never again questioned. It was also the last day we called each other exclusively by name. From then on, we almost always addressed each other as 'brother'. We later divided the newly formed Legion into ten groups of roughly equal number, each modeled after one of the militaries of the ten countries that founded it. These groups were called 'Guards', the overarching name given to individual regiments in Kemed, and each was led by a commander and lieutenant, who would determine how their individual guards would be run, with all ultimately answering to me. The ten were as follows: The Scarlet Guard was modeled after the Brithos navy, and commanded by Lord Montgomery Price, with his lieutenant Winston Sykes. Experts at aquatic combat and close quarters skirmishing." 
Instantly the mist of the proiectura anima shifted, to show a large number of men in dark blue and grey magetech armor, the armor was functional looking, with little in the way of decoration. Save for the red sash they all wore across their chests, and the helmets strange angular design, that reminded the observers of the prow of a ship more than anything. At the group's head was a slim man, standing ramrod straight, with his helmet under his arm, and a knowing smile beneath his mustachioed upper lip. While his other hand balanced on a rod-like mace of black steel and golden runes, much like Derran's sword. He had hazel green eyes, a flushed ruddy complexion, and short black hair that looked very precisely maintained, to the point that much of Derran's audience instantly thought of Rarity. Next to him, was a well built man, with a shaved head, with only a trace of black stubble indicating his hair's color. He looked out at the world through dark grey eyes, his aloof stance and toothy smirk combining with his bulky frame, to make him seem oddly intimidating.
"The Glacier Guard mirrored the soldiers of Odinia, and were commanded by Bodica Iceni, and her lieutenant, Thor Dreadhammer. They were among our mightiest troops, dedicated to the practice of a strong offensive combat style, and the use of heavy weaponry."
The mists swirled to reveal hundreds of large figures dressed in dark grey and white armor, this armor was far more elaborate than the previous guard. Covered in runes, and decorated with, to Derran's audience's mild discomfort, animal teeth and skulls. Their helmets bore visors that were clearly intended to mimic eyes, as the rest of the helmet's design evoked the image of a bearded human face. At their head was, for most of those present, the first human female they had ever seen. She had long, slightly curly red hair, delicate features, pale skin, and eyes that were a deep forest green. She stared ahead with a fierce confidence, that, combined with her ornate fur-trimmed armor, made her look far more formidable than her diminutive stature might otherwise have allowed. On her shoulder, rested a massive, double bladed ax, made of the same black steel that the other Hellbanes had been, golden runes etched on the handle. Next to her was a tall man, who's ornate silver and black armor was covered in countless runic inscriptions, and was completed by a billowing, fur trimmed, scarlet cape, that seemed to make him even larger. He had strong square jawed noble features, blue eyes, and long blond hair, braided into a number of ponytails, held together by a silver ring.
"The Dragon Guard took after the warriors of Shido. Embodying the techniques of that lands duel specialties of swordsmanship and stealth, you have already met the man who would command them, Musashi Yamoto, and his second in command Touma Raiden."
Within the mists, there now stood hundreds of ferocious looking warriors, each wearing one of two types of armor. One was heavier, and made up of ornate overlapping plates, and with various elaborate helms, who's visors all possessed a stylized face plate, that aped the features of a snarling monster. The other armor was sleeker, and sacrificed protection for speed, with metal plates being replaced with some kind of flexible material, that reminded the observers of heavy duty rubber, at the joints, neck, and inside of the limbs. The sleeker armor's helmets were blank plates, with a wide crescent visor, and devoid of unnecessary ornamentation. Standing before them all, was a man with wild, frizzy black hair, done up into a top knot, who's untrimmed sideburns and badly shaved beard, made Rarity's eyes bug out. His gauntlet covered hands rested easily on the hilts of his two swords, and he held a mischievous look on his face. Next to him was a slimmer man, with better groomed, but equally wild, short silver hair. He had extremely sharp, but youthful, features, piercing blue grey eyes, and an angry frown, that stood in direct contrast to his superior's brown eyes and at ease smirk.
"The Shimmer Guard took on the practices of the Sultan Kingdoms of Tibak. Who's skills in desert warfare were unparalleled, thanks to their use of illusions and swordsmanship, which they used performed lightning fast raids on multitudes of unsuspecting foes. They were led by the great Commander Tarif Saladin, and his Lieutenant Basel Altair."
The image in the mists shifted to show soldiers clad in shimmering armor of black and brass colored metal, covered in vine-like scrollwork, the helmets faintly resembling a upside down onion from the forehead up, and with a face plate like a polished oval mirror, accented with a coil of cloth similar to a turban around the forehead. Their armor was also often ornamented extensively, with leather belts or chains, covered in reflective gold and silver coins. Before the rows of shining warriors, was a man with curly short black hair, and an angular face featuring a perfectly trimmed beard and mustache. His black eyes had a steely gaze, that betrayed inestimable amounts of experience and wisdom, while his mouth quirked into an odd little half smile. He wore black armor trimmed in gold, and at his hip, was mag-locked a curved, single bladed sword of black steel, covered in golden runes. Beside him was a man who seemed slightly younger, despite both of them, like every member of the Legion thus far, apparently being the same twenty-something age. His face, though slightly hidden by a hood of white cloth that was part of a robe he wore over his white armor, seemed perfectly at ease. He had brown eyes, in which could be seen a detached look, that nevertheless, made it seem like he was absorbing and analyzing every detail of his surroundings at an impossibly minute level. He had short black hair, and a chin and upper lip covered in a small amount of stubble, his mouth showing a completely neutral expression. The image danced before them in the mist for a few seconds, before Derran continued.
"The Lion Guard modeled itself after the powerful soldiers of Izulos. They too were led by a man you have already seen. Leonidas Pyros, aided by his fearsome second in command, Kratos Idolum. Studied in the ways of sieges and defensive warfare, they were the Legion's invincible shield upon the battlefield." The mists roiled and reshaped as Derran finished, to show the new image. Untold thousands of warriors, clad in suits of extremely heavy looking mystical armor were revealed, standing at perfect attention. The armor was polished gold, accented by silver, commonly featuring embossed images of rampant lions, and laurels. The helms featured a 'T' shaped visor, and had atop them a decorative plume of scarlet dyed bristles shaped like a mohawk. Before them all, was the other man the ponies had seen fighting alongside Derrran in his memories. Without his helmet, he was revealed as a stern looking man, with very short black hair, and an impressive beard and mustache. Hard, dark green eyes, stared out at the world from above a faintly frowning expression, in the manner of a king surveying his land, the Hellbane Mercy, maglocked to his hip. Next to Leonidas, was a warrior who wore a dark, almost angry expression on his clean shaven features. His head was completely shaved, and across his face, was a brilliant scarlet tattoo that looked almost like a bloody scar. In his dark brown eyes, simmered a look that made him seem distinctly unfriendly. However the strangest thing about him, was his skin color, a chalky pale white, that did not seem entirely natural, and that stood in stark contrast to his commander's tanned, olive complexion. 
"The Elder Guard, based itself on the battle mages of Pharos. Led by the youngest of the Legion's ten commanders, Khamun Ra, and his trusted lieutenant, Magnus of Prospero. They were the Legions mightiest sorcerers, who's arcane might proved decisive in countless battles." Now the ponies saw row after row of warriors in armor of burnished gold, and dark blue or black steel. Over this was worn robes of turquoise blue, and both armor and robes were covered in glowing hieroglyphs and images of golden wings. However it was their helmets that were most impressive, golden masques, each bearing the features of an animal, encased the soldiers heads. Their forms were many, including birds, cats, oxen, snakes, and even the occasional insect. Tut himself was easily recognizable, due to his smaller stature, standing a good eight or so inches shorter than any of his men. Without his own elaborate helm, he was revealed to have a shaved head, his dark brown skin, covered in tattooed cartouche's and hieroglyphics, much like the ones on his armor. In addition, his long lashes, full lips, and delicate youthful features, made him look so effeminate, that if Derran had not told them he was male, his audience would likely have thought him a young girl. His brow was furrowed over bright eyes that seemed almost golden, a concerned look etched upon his face, as he held his Hellbane staff in one hand. Next to him, was a man who towered over his leader, and was quite possibly the strangest human any of them had seen yet. Standing an inch or two taller than even Derran, the man had an affable expression that seemed to instantly put people, or ponies, at ease. This made him seem approachable despite the strangeness of his appearance. First was his skin tone, it was, incredibly, a bright scarlet red, that reminded Derran's viewers of Big Mac's coat. This brilliant red extended to his hair, long and almost seeming to defy gravity, it reminded one of nothing so much, as the mane of a lion or manticore. His eyes were even more intriguing, one was a bright baby blue, while the other was a glowing pool of purple energy, that blazed away merrily in his skull, and made Twilight suspect that Magnus's appearance was likely the result of a magical mishap. However, before Twilight could inquire about her theory, the projection dispersed and reformed into a new image.
"The Zulu Guard took up the warrior traditions of the land of Afera. Who's skill in jungle warfare and guerilla tactics was beyond exceptional. Led by Commander Kunta Zulu, and lieutenant Tu'challa Mali, they faced every foe with a courage that made them legends even among the Legion."
The Zulu Guard were encased in dark brown and black armor, each etched with a variety of swirling pictographic images, that varied slightly from warrior to warrior. Their arms and necks decorated with small charms and necklaces, made of brightly painted wood beads, carved with decorative markings. The helms they wore were simple affairs, that appeared slightly boxy, with a plate around the mouth that vaguely resembled the muzzle of a cat. And each decorated with a sort of crown, made of brightly dyed bird feathers. Standing before their ranks, was a man whom seemed a living titan. Towering over even Derran and Magnus, he looked close to seven feet tall, leaning casually on yet another Hellbane, this one a leaf bladed spear. Lean and athletic looking, his skin was a shade of brown, so dark it appeared black. His head was completely shaved, and his eyes were a deep chocolate brown, in which danced a look of kindness and wisdom. This, combined with his wide toothy smile, gave him the look of a man who laughed loudly and often, instantly putting those who saw him at ease, despite his slightly intimidating height. Next to him was a man of more average height, his complexion was also extremely dark, and he had short, curly black hair, dark green eyes, and a well maintained beard and mustache. Unlike his leader, he wore a far more serious expression, his arms folded, and a fierce intelligence in the depths of his gaze, as his mouth curved into a slight frown.
"The Iron Guard adopted the practices and tactics of the Union of Amera's military. They were an adaptable, jack of all trades group, who claimed many victories in our crusade. Led by the able commander Patton Murphy, and his lieutenant, Avery Luther."
The shifting mists revealed that the Iron Guard, wore a utilitarian form of magetech armor, painted with various forms of camouflage. From splotchy greens and blacks meant for jungles, to blocky pixelated blues and greys designed for urban settings, all covered in combat webbing. Their helmets were rather elaborate, combining the features of a biker's helmet and a gas mask, with some having odd, goggle-like accoutrements, designed to be flipped down over the visor. In front of this group, was a man with blond hair shaved close to his head. His bright brown eyes gazing out toward the horizon, and combining with the slight frown on his red tinged face, to give him a look of solidity and wise concern. Finally, sheathed at his belt, was a combat knife made of black steel, etched with golden runes. Next to him was a man who seemed to ooze both experience and confidence. He had extremely dark brown skin, and black curly hair shaved close to his head, though not quite as close as his commander. He had dark hazel eyes, a well maintained mustache, and a five o'clock shadow. He wore a an odd little smirk, and there was a note of mirth in his eyes, balanced with a seriousness that told of a man ready for anything.
"Next among the Guards, was the illustrious Ghost Guard, who adhered to the battle doctrines of the Najvos nations. Impossibly skilled scouts and snipers, they were led by Roaring Bull, and his second in command, Lieutenant Domasi Turok."
The Ghost Guard appeared in the misty depths of the proiectura anima, in armor of green and brown, most decorated with small charms of dyed leather and brightly colored beads, accented with eagle feathers. The armor, like that of the Lion Guard, and roughly half of the Dragon Guard, appeared specialized beyond the merely decorative. It was lighter, and had extensive combat webbing meant to carry more gear. No doubt to allow its wearers to operate longer, away from the main army. There before the ranks of the Ghost Guard, was an imposing figure, with heavily tanned skin that appeared slightly sunburnt. His long black hair was done up in a pair of braids, each decorated with beads and eagle feathers. Two eyes of dark olive green, stared out from his slightly careworn face with a deep frown, and an intensity that instantly made you feel small, like a child in the face of a stern elder. At his hip, was the ninth of the ten Hellbanes, a hatchet with a peculiar knob at the back, that seemed designed to balance it in some way, the golden runes of its name clearly visible along the handle, though, as with all the others, none in the audience could read it. Next to the fearsome figure of the Ghost Guard Commander, was a man who seemed far more relaxed. He too, had a slightly sunburnt complexion, with his long black braided hair, worn slightly shorter, pulled back and held in place with a red headband, the braids bound tight with colored cloth. Unlike his superior, the slightly younger looking man, had a wide friendly grin, his good humor easily reflected in his bright brown eyes. Here at last, the images faded to show nothing but mist, as Derran finished his explanation.
"Finally of course, there was the Armageddon Guard, led by myself and Michael Santius. Modeled after the Kemedian military." He explained, though oddly, no new image appeared in the misty cloud of magical energy over his head.

"I thought you controlled the whole army?" Shining Armor asked. To which Derran nodded as he elaborated.

"Indeed, but I delegated overall command of the nine other Guards to their Commanders, who had broad discretion on how to carry out my orders . Only the Armageddon Guard answered to me directly." He explained.

"Armageddon Guard huh?" Rainbow Dash stated slowly. "How come they don't get a slideshow?" She asked, a note of suspicion in her voice. Derran shrugged.

"I simply assumed you had already seen enough of the Soldiers of Kemed, that it was not necessary." He replied smoothly. Rainbow nodded.

"I guess that makes sense." She agreed.

"This is all quite fascinating darling." Rarity interjected. "But it still doesn't explain how you got to Equestria in the first place?" Derran chuckled mirthlessly.

"Ah yes. . . the great mystery." Derran stated wistfully. "The event my brothers eventually came to call: 'The First Miracle'." Twilight arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"'The First Miracle'?" She repeated. "That's. . . theatrical." Derran shook his head.

"Well, it was quite an important event to those who lived it. . ." He trailed off before he took a deep breath and began again. "Thirty years. . ." He declared, sounding as if he was in another world, as the mists above his head writhed and shifted once more. "Thirty years of fighting. . . of pain. . . of loss. . . of death. . . and of sorrow. Every moment of every day was a bitter fight for our survival. Over time we lost brothers, good and bad, to the demons, to the environment, and to the sheer insanity and unceasing horror that is Hell's essence. When our blades broke, and our armor rent beyond our meager ability to repair, we turned the bones and skins of our foes into replacements. We feasted on their corpses, and glutted on their blood, as we tracked down and killed their masters, one after the other. Yet, with every victory came loss, until our army, once numbering in the hundreds of thousands, was whittled down to a mere ten thousand or so, as the war stretched on seemingly without end."
As Derran spoke, the mists above showed an image of him and his brothers traveling through the blasted landscape of Hell. As his audience watched, time in the image seemed to accelerate. As the ponies looked on, the armor and weapons of mortal steel faded away, to be replaced by horrific facsimiles of jagged bone and demonic leather. Helmets made of demonic skulls, held together with demon-gut cord, covered faces. As torsos were encased in cuirass's of tanned demon skin, stretched over frames made of rib cages. Arms and legs were protected by the modified carapaces of a variety of unholy lifeforms, and feet were covered in boots of monstrous hide, with treads of bone. Slowly but surely, Derran and the Legion became almost as one in appearance with those they fought.
Yet even this, frightening as it was, was not what most drew gasps from Derran's audience. Rather, it was the effect of time on the men themselves, that was most worrying. As before their eyes, the Legion began to age. Faces grew stretched and gaunt, once bright eyes dimmed, and limbs became gnarled. Teeth blackened, hair thinned and grew grey, but worst of all, were the marks left not by time, but by their enemies. Scars of all sizes and shapes, covered the aging Legion's bodies, from thin lines that were barely visible, to great divots, where flesh seemed almost to have been gouged out, like it was nothing more than clay. Eye patches became common, as did missing limbs, replaced with crude prosthetics of bleached bone and leather, that were more weapons than replacement limbs. Too did the look in the men's eyes change, all traces of optimism and joy, replaced with a look halfway between fatalism, and madness. When finally time resumed its normal speed, the men seemed not merely drained of their youth, but their humanity. 
"We ultimately came to be known by the denizens of Hell as: The Doom Legion. And for a time after our formal creation, we truly were as brothers." Derran almost managed a smile at that, before his expression darkened. "However, as the years wore on, even that became dulled and worn by time and hardship. And all the while, the Doom Slayer, whom I alone knew as a being separate from Derran Grandel, became ever more dominant of our collective flesh. On the few occasions when I was alone, I was wracked by thoughts of my family's death, and the deaths of others since. I withdrew, confidant that the Doom Slayer's greater might was better suited to things than I. He encouraged this, and as I became ever more passive, he became ever more aggressive and controlling. Eventually, I seceded nearly all control to him." Derran shook his head, a painful expression on his face as he continued. 
"My brothers, did not notice the change, though I suspect Michael might have figured it out to some degree. Even as I grew old in appearance, in body and mind I seemed not to age. It was as if the Doom Slayer drew strength from the slaughter of the battlefield. Like a fiend with a drug habit, he grew lethargic and more ill tempered the longer he went without bloodshed. Yet while in battle, it was as if he was immune to any form of fatigue, and in the grip of a delirious joy." At that, Derran's audience shuffled nervously, the idea that this other half of Derran drew joy and strength from killing, was hardly a comfortable thought. "Perhaps that is the problem with becoming a so-called legend? No one questions it when your abilities and mindset diverge from the norm. Then again, perhaps it was simply the fact that without anything to act in contrast or alternative to our situation, my brothers simply did not care."  Closing his eyes, Derran once more prepared to lay bare his ancient memories. "Either way, that all changed thirty years after our homeworld was swallowed by Hell. . . with the first miracle. . ."





"Say that again." The Doom Slayer asked, regarding his lieutenant with a cold expression. The years had been kind to Michael Santius, considering the circumstances. His long hair was still all there, though it had long since faded to bone white, from its original silvery blond. His gaze was still bright and undimmed by the unrelenting grind of the war. He still had all his limbs, and surprisingly few scars for someone who was never far from the front line. Even his voice still had traces of that faint lyrical tone from his younger days, when the Doom Slayer had first met him. Yes, the years had been kind to Michael Santius, and it never failed to annoy the Doom Slayer. Clearing his throat, Michael repeated the message. 

"The scouting group's messenger requests that we divert with all haste, to the ravine twenty miles to this island's designated north. He says he has found something extraordinary." The Doom Slayer, for he had long since refused to answer to any other name, glared at Michael.

"And did he happen to say why we should drop our pursuit of the second lord of Hell, and move twenty miles in the opposite fucking direction?" The Doom Slayer sneered contemptuously. 

"No my Lord." Michael replied. "The messenger, brother Kistrak, never personally saw what it was they found. However, based on how excited Squad Leader Tachi was described as being when he sent Kistrak off, I think it safe to assume he believed it was important." The Doom Slayer's gaze bored into Michael's, but he didn't so much as blink.

"Six Lords. . ." The Doom Slayer growled. " Out of the nine Lords of Hell we have only killed six!" Michael remained silent, waiting for his Lord to reach his point with careful patience born of experience, he had heard this speech before. "It's taken us thirty fucking years to get six! The last three lords damn well know that! We've spent the last four years searching for the last three, and do you know why?!" Once more Michael remained silent, even as his lord paced angrily about the interior of the tent of sewn together demonic skin, that served as his command center. "It's because they know that unlike them, our days are numbered." The Doom Slayer hissed. "It's been years since a member of the Legion was taken down by an enemy, so they figure, if they can't beat us in battle, they'll just have to keep ahead of us till they run out the clock!" Michael nodded.

"That does seem likely my Lord." He agreed diplomatically. The Doom Slayer once more turned to glare at Michael, his eyes filled with rage.

"So nice to know you can still grasp the blatantly fucking obvious in your old age." He declared venomously. "Then I assume you realize that this makes every second of time a precious commodity? One we would do well not to squander on pointless damn distractions!" Michael deftly ignored his Lord's insulting tone, nodding his agreement as he offered his counter argument.

"I of course agree wholeheartedly my Lord. However, I feel we must consider the source of this request. Brother Tachi is a very level headed sort, and not easily moved to excitement." The Doom Slayer paused in his pacing for a moment to consider Michael's words, before nodding. 

"He's no idiot, I agree." The Doom Slayer stated, some semblance of calm returning to him. "Not to mention that he's one of Roaring Bull's top scouts. . ." Michael nodded again.

"Shall we consult the other Commanders? Perhaps get their perspective?" The Doom Slayer shook his head.

"No, I'm not wasting time doing this by committee, just tell me your take on it." He growled. Michael was silent for a few moments as he weighed his words.

"I trust brother Tachi's judgment, he would not have made this request if he did not sincerely believe it was important." Michael declared. The Doom Slayer nodded.

"Fine then, tell the Commanders we're breaking camp. I want us ready to leave within the hour." Michael nodded, before raising his right arm across his chest so his fist was placed over his heart, the Legion salute.

"Right away my Lord." He declared evenly, before heading out of the tent.


+++++++


The journey to the ravine took most of the day, according to the chronological enchantments the Elder Guard had set up to keep track of such things. In a realm without sun, seasons, or stars, only magic provided a means of maintaining a grip, however fragile, on time's passing. The journey was not an easy one, but then it almost never was in this pit. Currently the Doom Legion was traveling across one of the larger chunks of hellstone and flesh, that floated in the endless charnel void of Hell. Roughly the size of a small continent, it was mostly a vast desert punctuated by peaks of jagged black hellstone, as well as rivers of caustic bile that pooled in areas the size of lakes. Not to mention the innumerable tunnels that served as home to countless roving packs of demons, mostly imps, the strange bipedal monstrosities referred to as pinkys, and the occasional group of hell razers. The larger demons were there too, but seldom dared to try attacking, and those that did were promptly slaughtered.

Finally however, Kistrak led them to the location to where Tachi's scout team waited. It was the entrance to a wide ravine, easily wide enough to shelter the entire Legion. Massive sheer walls of hellstone, stretched into the sky on either side, stained with the blood and acid that occasionally fell from above. This was, as the Legion learned, a disgusting form of runoff, that stemmed from the half living nature of Hell's floating islands, dripping from those islands above, to those below, in a vile form of precipitation. Tachi met them with the rest of his team, offering a salute, and a bow, as he approached the Doom Slayer.

"My Lord Doom Slayer." He greeted, his voice a whispering rasp that even raised, was barely audible. Yet despite this, it was clear that Tachi was excited, in a way few in the Legion ever were these days. This excitement seemed to extend to the rest of his team, all four of whom, not counting Kistrak, were fidgeting. Additionally, as he got closer, the Doom Slayer noticed that beneath their hell knight skull helmets, there were a pair of lighter colored lines on their faces, cutting through the filth that accumulated on the exposed skin of all members of the Legion. Had these men been. . . crying? The Doom Slayer's eyes narrowed as he examined his four brothers.

"Skip the formality brother. Tell me what you dragged us all here for?" Tachi nodded as he motioned the Doom Slayer to follow him. As he did, the Doom Slayer turned and gestured to a number of the Armageddon Guard to accompany him. "Tomas, Alex, Raam, Mithras, you're with us brothers, you too Michael." The Doom Slayer growled, before turning to the rest of the Legion. "The rest of you get to work securing this location! I don't want us caught with our ass's on the shitter!!" He barked out, as he and his chosen group fell in behind Tachi's scouting party.

"It's beyond my understanding." Tachi began, as they moved away from the main body of the Legion. "At first we were certain it was a trap. I mean. . . how could it possibly be true? How could it even survive here?" Tachi was rambling, sounding scarcely aware of his words or actions, as he moved forward like a man in a dream. The Doom Slayer and Michael glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes. Michael instantly could tell what his Lord was thinking, a skill he had inevitably developed over the many years of his service to the Slayer and the Legion. And right now, he could tell his Lord had serious doubts about Tachi's sanity. Not to mention it wouldn't have been the first time the Demons attempted a trick like this, to lead the Legion into an ambush. However, Michael shook his head, indicating he felt they should wait to see how things played out.

The distance to their destination was relatively short, only about ten minutes of walking along the floor of the ravine, their feet leaving deep prints in the powdered bone, that was as close as Hell ever came to producing sand. Their destination as it turned out, was a shallow crater, in an area where the bone sand gave way to solid hellstone. The Crater was surrounded by a number of large crumbling boulders that partially blocked it from view. As they approached, the Doom Slayer gave a surreptitious hand signal to his men. Nodding silently, they loosened swords, carved from the arm bones of barons of hell, in their cacodemon hide scabbards, or pulled bows made from the ribs of hell knights from their backs, and nocked barbed demon bone arrows to bow strings made of imp gut. Even Michael was on his guard, as his hand rested on the handles of a pair of bone daggers, made of the tusks of a pinky. As for the Doom Slayer, he slowly drew Unmaker from a sheath on his back, made of the skin of a balgaar demon. A rare commodity, as the Legion had hunted its kind to presumed extinction in this area of Hell. It was a testament to how out of it Tachi and his men were, that they either did not notice the weapons being readied, or simply were too distracted to comment.


As they approached the lip of the crater, the Doom Slayer and his men were struck by a subtle change in the atmosphere. The omnipresent heat of Hell, that regardless of shade or lack of activity, never changed from scorching, seemed to abate slightly. Too they felt a tiny bit of moisture in the air, a stark change from the eternal desiccation they had grown used to in their thirty odd year crusade. Then, came the strangest thing of all. There was a scent on the wind, a scent so removed from the traditional smells of sulfur, rotting flesh, and spilled blood that eternally permeated the air, that the Doom Slayer and his men actually hesitated for a second. It was a delicate scent, sweet, pure, and evoking images of springtime, which in this land of endless horror, was about as alien as could be.

"What is that?" Michael asked, his voice a low whisper. The Doom Slayer let out a faint growl.

"I don't know. . . but I don't like it." He declared, his jaw tightening as they drew close enough to the crater to look inside.

The effect was instantaneous, the men around Michael and the Doom Slayer gasping in shock. As they beheld what lay within the jagged depression in the earth. Men instantly stowed weapons and unfastened helmets, rubbing at dull eyes in disbelief, as mouths hung open. Only the Doom Slayer showed no reaction, his burning red eyes narrowing at the sight before him. 

"Impossible. . ." Michael whispered, his eyes wide and staring.

There, in the center of the crater, was a sight that defied all reason. A thing so extraordinary, that even men as hardened and jaded as those who saw it now, could not remain unmoved. Sitting there, in opposition to all logic and sense. . . was a flower. It sprouted out of the cracks in the hellstone as though natural. Its broad, dark green leaves, unfolding around a stem, that went up straight for about a foot, before gently curving downward, it's surface laden with large white blooms, as pure as the driven snow.

"An orchid. . . the symbol of hope." Tachi whispered, tears appearing in his eyes as he fell to his knees at the edge of the crater. . . and he was not alone. The men the Doom Slayer had brought with him, men who had stared into the face of horror, madness, and death, countless times before. Fell to their knees at the lip of the crater, their eyes wide, as tears streamed from them. Even Michael seemed moved, a strange smile appearing on his face, even as a lone droplet of liquid fell from his left eye. Again, Only the Doom Slayer remained unmoved, glaring at the flower as he felt a surge of anger rise within him.

"This is what you brought us here for?" He hissed, his grip on his sword tightening, as he gritted his teeth so hard he could almost hear them crack. However, before he could say any more, Michael spoke.

"Surely we must share this with the rest of the men?" He began, in a tone clearly meant to diffuse his Lord's growing rage. "I am certain that seeing such a miracle will doubtless boost their resolve, and allow them to be about our task with even greater vigor! Would you not agree my Lord?" The Doom Slayer glared murder at Michael for a moment, before forcing himself to calm down. Motioning Michael to come with him, he walked until they were out of earshot of the men, before rounding on his subordinate, his eyes ablaze with rage.

"We have already lost an entire day on this fucking waste of time, and now you think we should spend even more just so the Legion can stop to smell the literal fucking roses?!!" The Doom Slayer snarled, clearly struggling not to shout.

"I do not see we have much of a choice my Lord." Michael said diplomatically. "One way or another, something this momentous will get out, and if we simply move on without even acknowledging it, we could face no end of dissension in the ranks." The Doom Slayer looked nearly apoplectic as he responded.

"Or we could simply kill that gaggle of idiots, dump their bodies in the crater with their precious fucking weed, and then say it was a demon ambush!" Michael nodded, as if seriously considering the suggestion. Knowing full well he'd have to play this carefully, to keep his Lord carrying out his threat. Which if the look in his eyes was any indication, he was completely serious about.

"I suppose that is one option." Michael offered carefully. "However that would deprive us of a marvelous opportunity." The Doom Slayer's gaze bored into Michael's like a drill, his voice a deadly calm whisper.

"How do you figure?" He asked slowly. Michael cleared his throat before responding.

"Well, perhaps we spin it like this: This flower is clearly a blessing of the Light, a miracle to assure us of the righteousness of our quest, telling us we must persevere, and do all in our power to slay the last lords of Hell? Surely any time we would lose, would be more than repaid by the greater zeal it would inspire in the men?" For a moment, Michael feared his argument had not worked, as the Doom Slayer's eyes seemed to blaze to new heights of fury. Then however, his Lord's anger seemed to subside slightly, as he glared at Michael.

"Fine, we'll make camp, and give the men two days to look at the pretty flower! We've lost so much time now that rushing would be pointless anyway. After that though, we're leaving, even if I have to rip that damn thing up by the roots and burn it to gods damn ashes!!" As the Doom Slayer shouldered past him, Michael let out a sigh of relief, his gambit had worked. Michael had been at the side of his Lord for every moment of the last thirty years of campaigning. He respected the Doom Slayer utterly, as a friend and a mentor, and, despite his faults, honestly more of a father than Michael's real one had ever been. However, as time had passed, he had noticed a change come over his lord. 

Not long after the Legion was officially formed, the Doom Slayer had actually become considerably more personable with the men. He had never exactly been perfect, but he had at least engaged with them. He had given speeches to rouse them when they were down, had listened to concerns brought to him, had even, on his really good days, occasionally joked with the men, or told a story or two around the proverbial campfire. He even joined in singing the various marching songs the Legion would belt out when they didn't need to worry about stealth.

Little by little however, the Doom Slayer had changed. He almost never addressed the men anymore, except to give orders. He left Michael to manage complaints on his own, and the days when he would tell a story or make a joke went from rare, to nonexistent. In recent years it had gotten worse, especially after his declaration that he would no longer answer to Derran Grandel. He became more and more volatile, seemingly resenting every moment they spent outside of battle. While, in battle, he fought with a savagery and viciousness that made him scarcely distinguishable from the demons themselves. There was also one other feature, that only Michael himself was likely aware of. Not long after meeting the Doom Slayer, Michael had noted his eyes had a peculiar habit of going from icy blue, to bloody red in battle. At the time, the Doom Slayer stated it was something he had been born with, a result of a magical mishap his mother had endured while pregnant. Michael had never questioned that explanation, until several years ago, when the Doom Slayer's eyes had not changed back, leaving his gaze a permanent scarlet. Every day now, it seemed to Michael that his Lord was becoming more and more unstable, losing himself ever more to his rage. And every day, Michael wondered how long it would be, before his Lord could no longer be pulled back from the brink. . .


+++++++


The Doom Slayer snarled, as he bit into a piece of imp jerky beneath his freshly reconstructed command tent. The dry chewy substance, tasted like solid ashes soaked in piss, but it was all there was. As he took another bite, chewing savagely, he considered the events occurring in the newly established Legion encampment, with a burning anger in his gut. Credit where it was due, Michael's little morale boosting story worked. Everywhere the Doom Slayer looked, he saw the teary eyed rapture of the mindlessly religious. That, given proper incentive, could be whipped up into a frenzy of fanatical zeal. However, to the Doom Slayer, this whole thing was a farce. He had told his brothers countless times in the past, that the Light was nothing more than a lie. A comforting delusion, put forward and embraced by idiots terrified of reality. How quickly his so called brothers who supposedly agreed with this founding tenet of the Legion, abandoned it the first chance they got.

"I should have destroyed that damn weed when I had the chance." He growled to himself, as he took a swig from the mancubus leather water skin at his side. The horribly bitter taste of demon blood on his tongue calming him, as he drank the skin dry. "Ahhhh." He declared with relish, his fury subsiding for an instant, as he enjoyed the faintly acidic burn of the hell razer blood. "Nothing like home brewed." He chuckled, as his mind wandered to comforting memories of tearing demons limb from limb. However. the joy was short lived, as he recalled the events of the last few hours, and his anger returned. "Bastards!" The Doom Slayer spat, as he hurled his empty water skin into one corner of the tent.

For a moment the feeling of rage became almost overpowering, as at the same time, an itching sensation began building beneath his skin. Tearing off one of his demon leather vambraces, the Doom Slayer looked closely at his arm, so scarred it looked as if he no longer had skin. It was likely just a trick of the light, but it almost seemed as if his scars were pulsing with a faint red energy, and was it his imagination, or did what unblemished flesh that was there, look ever so slightly like scales? The Doom Slayer shook his head, as he considered asking Michael his opinion. Before suddenly feeling a nearly overpowering rage engulf him. For an instant, the Doom Slayer considered tearing out of his tent, and beheading the first man he saw. But just barely managed to restrain himself, as he retrieved and re-donned his vambrace. It was Michael's fault that they were in this situation to begin with! Had it not been for his second in command's foolish sentimental bullshit, they would have already caught the second Lord of Hell by now! The Doom Slayer let out an almost inhuman sounding growl, as he wondered, and not for the first time, if perhaps he would be better off without his weakling coward of a second! Taking a deep breath, the Doom Slayer suddenly felt exhausted. He would deal with his lieutenant tomorrow, for now, he needed rest.

As he lay down on the ground, his eyes growing heavier than he could ever recall feeling them, the Doom Slayer caught a strange scent on the wind. In the befuddling haze between sleep and wakefulness, he realized that it was the same odd perfume he had smelled coming from the flower. The subtle sweet scent, filled the Doom Slayer with an unusual sense of calm, that he had not experienced in many years. For an instant, images of a fiery red haired woman and child, flowed through his mind, before vanishing. And for an instant, he felt a faint sense of panic and a feeling of loss, but was unable to understand why. However, both the panic, and the image, vanished a moment later. As he drifted off to sleep, the Doom Slayer's last thought, was how odd it was that he could smell the flower here, when he had specifically ordered his tent placed as far away from it as possible. In the end, he decided it didn't matter, he would deal with it tomorrow. . .


+++++++
  

From the moment his consciousness returned to his body, the Doom Slayer knew something was wrong. Even before he opened his eyes there were far too many signs to be ignored, even by the most idiotic luddite. First, was the realization that the ground beneath him had changed. Gone was the faintly painful hellstone sand, that always seemed to feel like broken glass, no matter how finely ground up it appeared. In its place the Doom Slayer felt something springy, faintly ticklish, and remarkably soft. Gone too was the omnipresent heat and desiccation, replaced by air that was pleasantly warm, and filled with just the right amount of moisture to be perfectly comfortable, with the perpetually howling winds of Hell, replaced by a gentle breeze. Even the smell was wrong, the sulfuric rotting stench, replaced completely by the smell of flowers and vegetation.  

The Doom Slayer's eyes snapped open, as he leapt up and tore Unmaker from his back, his eyes wild. Rushing for the tent flap, he just barely had time to notice that the light leaking into the tent, was not the diffused faintly crimson light of hell, but rather the bright pure light of a true sun. Bursting through the tent's entrance, the Doom Slayer was momentarily blinded, as he roared out a call to action.

"BROTHERS RISE!! READY YOURSELVES!! WE ARE-" However before he could finish raising the alarm, the Doom Slayer's vision cleared, and the words caught in his throat. The area he and his brothers camp now stood in, was not the barren plains of Hell.

All around the Legion, green rolling hills and clumps of forest, stretched off in every direction. While in the distance, snow capped mountains could be seen. The scene's beauty defied description, surpassing even the greatest landscape portrayed by a master painter. The songs of birds, and the buzz of insects, reverberated through the air like the world's greatest symphony. Playing a song so pure and perfect, that it seemed it could only have been composed by the choirs of heaven. The gentle breeze was filled with the exotic perfumes of countless wildflowers, each more exquisite than the last. while overhead were the fluffiest, whitest, clouds, any of the Legion had ever seen, with the sky above appearing as a blue so perfect it could, and did, bring men to tears. All of this illuminated by a star whose brightness, was at complete odds with how gentle and warm its rays felt upon the skin. The Doom Slayer stared in mute shock at his surroundings. As the Legion struggled to come to terms with the view they now beheld. So consumed was he with the impossibility of what his senses were telling him, that the Doom Slayer did not notice when Michael came to stand by his side.

"My Lord?" He asked, his voice trembling slightly as he struggled to function in spite of how overwhelmed he was.

"Yes brother?" The Doom Slayer replied, his voice steady but emotionless. Unable to even turn to face his subordinate. 

"Is this. . . are we dead?" Michael asked, a hint of worry entering his voice. The Doom Slayer knew what his lieutenant was getting at. He wanted to refute him, to tell him that there was no such thing, that there was a rational explanation for all of this. However, as he stood there, staring at a paradise earthed, all he could say was. . .

"I don't know. . ."





Twelve hundred years, and several miles removed from Derran and his memories, three fillies awoke. getting shakily to their hooves, they tried to focus, despite the metaphorical cobwebs still clouding their senses. From the general position of the sun, they guessed they had been unconscious for several hours at least.

"Derran!" Apple Bloom gasped, barely able to stand, but fiercely determined. "We gotta find Derran!!" Her two companions nodded, just as groggy, but also just as motivated.

"We should head back to town!" Declared Sweetie Belle as she struggled to rise. "Get everypony we can to help us!" She stated, even as she stumbled slightly, trying to stand.

"On it!" Scootaloo replied, gritting her teeth in determination, as she grabbed her scooter and buzzed her wings experimentally. "I can get there fastest. . . but what do I tell them?!" Sweetie Belle shook her head, as a light of grim determination entered her eyes.

"Tell them the truth. Tell them that Chrysalis is back and looking for Derran. . . and that she has Derpy Hooves, and Flurry Heart."