Michael rose to his feet. . . it was time. It had now been exactly one day since the Doom Slayer had entered the princesses castle. Twenty four hours since the moment that had nearly seen all his worst fears come to pass. Yet, even without the realization of those fears, the Legion would likely never be the same. All around him, Michael heard them, the whispers. . . the rumors. . . the theories. All the many dark rumblings of his brothers discontent. They had seen it now, heard it, witnessed all of it out in the open daylight. . . the madness of the Doom Slayer.
Michael shook his head. He already regretted allowing the princesses to be alone with his lord. They were well intentioned, and perhaps they even truly believed what they said. Believed they could save the Doom Slayer from what he had become. Musashi, oddly enough, seemed to share this belief, and right now, that was all that was holding the Legion together. However, Michael knew their lord better than anyone, and he was now all but certain, he was too far gone for salvation.
"Why did I allow them to stay alone with him?" Michael whispered to himself, as he imagined the worst case scenario. The Doom Slayer had become completely unpredictable. He was capable of anything, including simply murdering the princesses out of spite. Michael splashed his face with ice cold water from a bucket outside his tent, a luxury he had not had in over three decades, but one his fears forbade him to appreciate. He had not slept a wink the night prior, too worried about what he and the others would find when they returned to Bridledown. The Doom Slayer had ordered them all to return to camp until the time limit expired. Why any of them had obeyed, was an open question, as all among them had wanted to stay. Moving through the Legion camp like a sinner approaching purgatory, Michael saw his brothers were already waiting for him.
"It is time brother." Leonidas stated quietly, Musashi and the other eight commanders of the various Legion Guard's beside him. Michael nodded.
"Indeed. . ." Michael trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper. "let us go then." He declared, suddenly feeling incredibly old, despite his once more youthful body. Leading the way, Michael moved to exit the innermost circle of the camp, his brothers falling in silently behind him. More and more joined them the closer they moved to the border of the encampment. No one spoke or called a greeting, no one even so much as saluted, but no one cared. As they finally passed the last ring of tents and defensive wards, not even the guards remained behind. Over ten thousand pairs of feet marched in dread toward the castle of the two royal sisters. Their pace identical to that of prisoners being led to the hangman's rope, their expressions grim. After a brief period of silent travel at the head of this somber procession, Michael turned to regard Musashi with dark circled eyes.
"Brother. . . ." He asked, his voice all but devoid of life.
"Hmm?" Musashi responded, curiosity showing on his face.
"Do you. . . do you truly believe they can save him?" Michael asked hesitantly. Musashi gave Michael a look of mild surprise.
"You don't?" He asked evenly. Michael sighed wearily.
"Honestly brother. . . I am uncertain I believe anything anymore." He declared, his tone heavy with regret and worry. Musashi smiled.
"Well. . . with all due respect brother. You need to get over it." Michael gave his brother a questioning, and slightly hurt look, as Musashi elaborated. "The Doom Slayer may be the heart of the Legion, but you've always been its soul. . . . So if you don't believe, how can any of us be expected to?" Michael gave Musashi a surprised look before turning away, closing his eyes as he lost himself deep in thought.
"I. . . I was going to challenge him. . . our lord I mean." Michael admitted, his voice heavy with shame at the admission, as he opened his eyes. Musashi nodded.
"I know. . ." He replied, to Michael's unspoken shock. "that's why I did it first." Michael arched an eyebrow incredulously. "I saw the look on your face as the boss was ranting, and I knew if I didn't speak up, you would." Michael looked at Musashi in stunned amazement.
"Then why-" He began, only for Musashi to cut him off.
"I already told you, if you don't believe, no one will. I know our lord ain't right in the head. He's always been a bastard, but he's the bastard who led us all through the darkness. Showed us all how to do the impossible, made us see that no matter how strong our foe, we can be stronger. He threw away hope, but at the same time, gave us all something to believe in. That's why I think we all still have our marbles, because that crazy SOB kept on crossing uncrossable rivers, climbing unclimable mountains, and winning unwinnable fights. When the world came crashing down, he was the one man strong enough to stand up, and take every last piece that was left on his shoulders. . . and he carried that weight for thirty godsdammned years." Michael stared at Musashi in wonder as he continued. "We all knew he was nuts, what man could do all that without going crazy? But through it all we still believed, and do you know why?"
Michael shook his head. Musashi smiled. "It was you brother. The boss was the one who carried the world on his back, but you were the one who convinced us all he wouldn't drop it. You were the one who stood closest to him. You stood in the heart of the inferno that was the Doom Slayer, and never burned. When the flames rose too high, you cooled them, when its roar was too fierce for us to understand, you told us what it meant. And when our faith wavered, yours stayed true. So as long as you believed in the Doom Slayer, so did we." Michael's expression became stunned. Was this true? Did his brothers really see it that way?
"All I have ever done is try to serve our lord and my brothers, to do what I could to keep the Legion together, nothing more than that." He declared truthfully. Musashi nodded.
"I know, we all do. Like I said, that's why we still believe. . . ." Trailing off. Musashi halted to turn and look Michael in the eye, his expression deadly serious. "Now brother, I honestly need to ask. . . do you still believe?" Michael went silent, as he considered all that had happened, and all he had seen in the last few days. Turning to gaze into the distance, he stayed quiet for an entire minute, before finally speaking. His expression switching from a look of doubt and uncertainty, to one of absolute conviction.
"Perhaps it is this place. Perhaps it is the fact that in a mere two and a half days, I have seen more miracles than most would see in a thousand lifetimes. Or perhaps, I am every bit as mad as our lord. But brother. . ." Here Michael turned to Musashi, his eyes practically aflame with the light of true faith. "I do still believe. . . in our lord. . . in the Legion. . . and, in the Princes-, no. . . ." Michael paused, his expression suddenly set like stone, in the manner of one who's doubt has been utterly erased. " I believe . . . in the Seraphim!" Musashi nodded, as they finally reached the castle gates.
"Then brother. . ." He declared with a smile. "so do we."
+++++++
Derran Grandel did not understand. . . . He did not understand how it was that he had lost himself so completely to the Doom Slayer. He did not understand how it was that he had managed to cry continuously for over half the night, as two beings he had wronged beyond all measure, stood at his side comforting him. Nor did he understand, why those same two beings, had risked all they had to save him, after he had allowed the Doom Slayer to nearly murder them in cold blood. Most of all however. . . he did not understand, how he could, now or ever, make things right with them, or his brothers.
As it stood, the only thing that kept Derran from impaling himself on his own sword right that instant, was the knowledge that it would be the ultimate slight of ingratitude, to the ones who had given so much to save him. Throughout the night, Derran had begged the princesses to clap him in irons, to cage him, as he had done the Doom Slayer within his mind. He must stand trial, he had insisted between sobs, his crimes were simply too great to ever be excused. His due, if not execution, was to be locked away in the deepest most vile pit this world had. Yet, not merely had the princesses refused, they had comforted him. Offering sweet words and gentle embraces, to sooth his tormented mind and soul. Only after many hours at the princesses side, listening to their kind whispers and assurances, did Derran finally pull himself somewhat together.
Now, as he stood before the castle doors, beyond which lay the courtyard where his brothers awaited him. . . . Derran wanted more than anything to run, to hide, to do anything to escape having to see the faces of his comrades. The wrongs he had done them were beyond counting. Sin piled upon sin, in an unending tower of betrayal. A monument, to the dark path he had dragged them down. Still, he refused to move, he had hidden already from his responsibilities once, allowing the Doom Slayer to take control, because he was too much of a coward to stand up and lead his brothers, out of fear of failing them as he had his family. He would not hide this time, come what may, he would face this trial, and accept the consequences. However, despite his resolve, as he stood there before that gate, he could not summon the strength to open it.
That was when he felt something take hold of his hand. The object was hard, yet somehow at the same time soft, it possessed no fingers. Yet impossibly, it gripped his hand as assuredly as any human appendage. Even as he stood there, Derran felt the object somehow apply pressure to his entire hand, in a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"Thy brothers will understand. . . we are certain they will forgive thee." The voice of Luna declared softly. Derran sighed, as he felt the tension within his chest disperse, and the phantom weight upon his shoulders lessen slightly. His fear turning suddenly into a weary resignation.
"You are kind Lady Luna, but. . . I am not entirely certain I wish them to." Derran declared, his voice heavy with a nearly palpable sorrow. Suddenly, he felt his opposite hand taken by another of the strange objects, that was so like a hand, even while making it clear it was not.
"Thou wish to make things right, thy brothers will see this. . . they are quite perceptive." Celestia stated confidently. Derran took some measure of further reassurance from her certainty.
"Whatever may come, know that we will be by thy side, Derran Grandel." Luna declared, smiling up into Derran's unreadable expression. For a brief instant, Derran returned Luna's smile.
"Till whatever may come then. . . ." He declared softly, as he gently released the princesses hooves, and opened the door. . . .
+++++++
Michael stared at the still closed doors of the castle with a steady gaze. They had been waiting nearly twenty minutes since arriving, and every moment that passed made the tension in the air that much stronger. Legion and pony alike stood in the courtyard, none saying a word, as they awaited the answers they sought. The Legion may have appeared grim and disciplined, but to those who knew what to look for, the strain they were feeling was about as wall concealed as a flare in a pitched black room. The ponies for their part, were more visibly concerned, some chewed on their lower lips, while others ears were flattened against the top of their heads, and all among them wore expressions of deep worry. However, just as the tension became beyond even the Legion's ability to bear, the door began to open. The action could not have taken more than a moment or two, yet to the assembled crowd, it seemed as if it took eons. Inevitably though, the ornate double doors of the castle swung outward, and revealed the three figures within to the eyes of the onlookers.
Audible exhalations of relief could be heard from pony and human alike, as the two princesses walked out, alive and unhurt. However this relief was short lived, as the figure of the Doom Slayer moved to stand between them. Striding forward at an unhurried pace, the Doom Slayer wore an expression as stern and unforgiving as any the Legion, or Equestrians, had ever seen. Many, on seeing his dark expression, felt their hearts sink, as it seemed for an instant that the princesses had failed. However, such feelings were ended with a single glance at Michael, and the nine Legion commanders. . . to a man, they were smiling.
It was Michael who noticed it first. The grins on the princesses faces, the slight enthusiasm in their step, and the looks of kind reassurance they surreptitiously gave the Doom Slayer. As for the Doom Slayer himself, all Michael needed, was to look into his lord's eyes, eyes, that now were the bright shimmering blue of pure arctic ice. Yet even had this physical change been absent, Michael could hardly have failed to notice the stark transformation in the nature of his lord's gaze. Where once there was naught to be seen but barely controlled hatred and contempt, now there was a steely resolve, mixed with a sadness and regret, that Michael had not seen on his master's face for decades. Even without the Doom Slayer speaking a word, Michael knew, without a doubt, that he was bearing witness to yet another miracle. His lord, his true lord, whom but a short time ago he had nearly given up for lost. . . had returned.
A whispered murmur of wonder rippled out through the assembled crowd, as the rank and file took note of what their commanders already knew. With wide and uncertain eyes, the assembled members of the Legion turned to one another in shock, wondering if they should dare believe what so many had deemed an impossibility? For a time, the whispers of the Legion grew slightly in volume, disbelief and awe in every voice, and on every face. Until at last, the Doom Slayer raised his hand for quiet, and all present instantly lapsed into silence. After a moment's hesitation, that lasted just long enough for him to exchange a nod with a gently smiling princess Luna, the Doom Slayer took a deep breath, and spoke. His tone was strong and sure, in a way that the Legion had not heard in over twenty years. Yet it still held a strong undercurrent of anger, though not, it seemed, directed toward any of them.
"The traitor. . ." The Doom Slayer began, his voice echoing to every corner of the castle courtyard. "of all the myriad types of sinner, he is perhaps among the most contemptible." The Doom Slayer paused to take a breath, allowing his audience a brief moment to process his words before continuing. "It is perhaps at times understandable, or even noble, to defy one's country, cause, or commander, if they no longer serve the common good. Rebellion against a tyrant cannot ever truly be called treason, if done for noble purpose." Here the Doom Slayer paused, the Legion hanging on his every word. "However, the true traitor has no claim to such nobility. He does not turn against his fellows to uphold an ideal greater than himself, he does it solely to serve his own selfish wants and desires." Here the Doom Slayer's gaze became like steel as he looked out over the crowd, spitting out his words with a venom that, to their shock, the Legion and the ponies beside them, realized could only be born of self loathing. "He betrays for coin! He betrays for power! He betrays for pleasures of the flesh! He may even. . . betray for revenge." Here the Doom Slayer's tone softened for an instant, his voice becoming sorrowful, before once more becoming stern and unyielding, as he continued to speak. "Regardless of the why however, the traitor seeks to improve his own lot, or further his own design, through the sacrifice of those whom gifted him with that most sacred of bonds. . . trust." Here the Doom Slayer's eyes flashed, his gaze seeming to dare anyone to contradict him. "Abhor the traitor my brothers! For he is an example of all that is wretched and detestable within the souls of men!" This proclamation resounded like a distant clap of thunder, as the Doom Slayer's formerly stern expression softened once more into one of regret.
"And it is with shame my brothers, that I must tell you. . . there is a traitor among us now." The eyes of the Legion widened, each brother turning to the other, wondering for an instant if their lord was referring to Musashi, or perhaps Kados, but before any could ask, the Doom Slayer resumed his speech. "This traitor, was one all of us trusted, he was perhaps never the most noble of individuals, but we all believed that at the very least, he would do his best to look out for us. It is with a shame I cannot even begin to describe brothers, that I must tell you. . . we were mistaken. This traitor, used us, he lied to us, and sent good men to die simply to satisfy his own lust for vengeance! Would that this monstrosity of a man had been slain on the field of battle, or been taken by the enemy to be tortured and devoured! It would have been no less a fate than he deserved! However, battle after battle, day after day, he somehow evaded justice, while poisoning those around him ever more thoroughly with his hateful, blasphemous dogma!" Questioning murmurs broke out as the Doom Slayer paused for breath, only to be silenced once more by a raised hand.
"This traitor, became ever more twisted, in mind, body, and soul, till he was little different than the demons he slew. So abominable did he become, that when we arrived here, at the very gates of Heaven itself, and were greeted by no less than the Light's firstborn children, the Seraphim, he could not even see them for what they were! This traitor, this monster, did not merely content himself with simple slander, or refusal of belief, NO!" Here the Doom Slayer's eyes filled with the fires of righteous wrath, as he spoke in a voice filled with indignant fury. "They offered him food and drink from their table, and he attempted to repay their hospitality with a blade! They restored his youth, giving him a chance to re-live the years he had lost, and when they lay helpless as a result, he turned his back on their plight!" The Doom Slayer took another breath, his body shaking with rage. "Then. . ." He continued, his voice a low growl. "the Seraphim offered this thrice dammed, son of a back ally harlot, a home. . . . Not merely for himself, but for every one of his brothers as well. And how did he repay this kindness?" The Doom Slayer let the question hang in the air like a headsman's axe, before continuing in a tone of damming finality. "He refused! Instead, doing all he could to drag his brothers back to Hell to die!" The Legion at this point was stunned into silence, scarcely able to believe this was the same Doom Slayer they had known not twenty four hours ago, but he wasn't quite done. Straightening up slightly, the Doom Slayer's expression became one of supreme disgust.
"However my brothers, the traitor's worst sin, his greatest and most vile blasphemy by far, occurred just last night. . . when the Seraphs, attempted a final, desperate effort to save him from damnation, and he repaid them with a second attempt at murder. . . ." Here the Doom Slayer turned to look squarely at the crowd before him, before raising his hand and pointing it at brother Kados, easily recognizable by his bruised jaw. "Brother Kados!" The Doom Slayer cried out, his voice taking on a parade ground snap. Directing every member of the Legion's attention to him.
"Sir?" Kados replied, nervousness and disbelief warring within him for an instant.
"You, I am certain, would recognize the traitor of whom I speak! After all, was it not he, who in a fit of rage, struck you in a cowardly and unprovoked attack?!" Kados stood stunned, uncertainty and bewilderment writ large upon his face.
"Ah, ah uh. . . ahm not sure ah understand mah Lord. . . ." The Doom Slayer arched an eyebrow.
"What is there to understand brother? You were attacked yesterday, struck by one of your brothers, correct?" Kados's face did a couple of contortions as he struggled to think of how to respond.
"W-well, ah mean. . . technically tha's true, but mah Lord-" The Doom Slayer cut Kados off before he could say more, his expression one of unyielding command.
"And can you point him out brother? The one who assaulted you?" At this point, Kados, unable to speak, simply nodded. "Good, then I ask you tell us his name brother, that he may face his just punishment." Turning to look at Michael, Kados gave him a desperately confused look. Michael simply set his face, and gave a slight nod. Taking a deep breath, Kados spoke, his tone one of sadness and resignation.
"It. . . it was you mah Lord. . ." Here Kados's tone suddenly became a bit fiercer, as he stared at the Doom Slayer with a stern expression. "but. . . but mah Lord, I wanna go on record as sayin tha' ah don hold no grudge against ya. Ya'll might of had a bad spell, but. . . I jus' can't agree with this! Y'all made a few mistakes, but that don' make y'all no traitor!" The Doom Slayer nodded, his expression becoming one of tired resignation.
"Thank you brother Kados, I. . . appreciate your candor, and your kindness." Kados opened his mouth to answer, but once more the Doom Slayer cut him off with a raised hand. "However, my actions cannot simply be excused, no member of the Legion is above our laws. Attacking you was but one of my transgressions, and no matter my state of mind at the time, I must bear the responsibility for them all." Here the Doom Slayer turned to look squarely at his second in command. "Brother Michael Santius, step forward!" Separating from the other commanders, Michael moved to stand before his lord, bowing his head in respect.
"Yes my Lord?" Michael asked, a faint trace of concern in his voice. Without a word, the Doom Slayer undid the demonhide scabbard containing Unmaker from his belt, and presented it to Michael. Michael just had time to register his shock at the gesture, before his lord began speaking again.
"From the beginning brother, you have stood as an example to all within the Legion. There is no man here that I trust more, or in whose abilities I have greater faith. When I met you, you were but a pampered child, yet now you stand head and shoulders above us all. You are the best of us, in mind, body, and spirit, the greatest of the Legion. . . and the only one worthy, to receive the title of Doom Slayer!" Michael stared into his lord's face, utterly speechless. His eyes widening in disbelief, and no small amount of horror.
"My Lord you cannot be-" The Doom Slayer cut him off as though he had not heard.
"I bequeath to you the Hellbane Unmaker, the symbol of your new office. May none ever doubt your right to wield it!" For a long time, no one spoke. Everyone staring in shock at Michael, as he in turn stared in shock at the sword. Finally however, Michael reached out. . . and pushed the sword away.
"I refuse!" He declared, his face set as if in stone. The Doom Slayer looked confused for a moment, before glaring down at him.
"You cannot refuse, the Legion must have a leader, a Doom Slayer . . . and I have chosen you." The Doom Slayer declared, as he once more presented the sword to his lieutenant. "Now take up your sword, Doom Slayer." Michael firmly shook his head.
"That is not my sword." He declared firmly. "There is only one man worthy to wield that blade. Just as there is only one man worthy to be the Doom Slayer. . . ." Before the Doom Slayer could say another word, Michael fell to one knee, his right arm across his chest, fist placed squarely over his heart, in the legion salute. "And he is a man I remain proud to serve." No sooner had Michael knelt, then the entire Legion followed suit. Falling to one knee, they bowed their heads, placing their right arms across their chests, so the fists were positioned over their hearts. The Doom Slayer stared in shock at the scene before him, unable to believe his eyes, as not one of his brothers remained standing.
"Brothers please I-" The Doom Slayer began, only for Kados to cut him off.
"Like ah said mah Lord, y'all didn't betray us, ye just. . . lost yer way a bit. And what matter's most ta us, is that ya finally found yer way back." He declared. The Doom Slayer shook, as tears appeared in his eyes. Trembling as he struggled to put the emotions he was feeling into words.
"My brothers I. . . I am. . . I am so sorry. . . I. . . ." The Doom Slayer found himself unable to finish, as he realized that no words in all the languages of men, could ever express either his sorrow, or his gratitude.
"We know my Lord. . . you do not have to say it." Michael declared softly. The Doom Slayer nodded, just barely managing to pull himself together, turning away to hide the silent tears still flowing freely across his face. Taking a deep breath, he rallied himself.
"Very well my brothers. . . I have heard your words, and I accept your judgment. Hearken then now to your new orders, and the realization of our new purpose." Here the Doom Slayer looked into the eyes of Celestia and Luna, his face filled with gratitude, as his eyes shone with a zealous reverence. "My ladies I. . . where do I even begin? After all you have done for myself and my brothers, there is no possible way we could repay you. Not even if given a thousand times a thousand lifetimes. . . . I now see the truth I was blind to before. . . you are indeed, the holy Seraphim of legend. The ancient first children of the Light, and the ones who will guide mankind to purity and wisdom. Would that I could offer you a boon even half as wondrous as those you have given my brothers and myself. Sadly, all I can offer is a promise. . . ." Here The Doom Slayer knelt before the Princesses, who's expressions had long ago turned to ones of shock. Presenting his sword to them, he bowed his head in an unmistakable gesture of fealty. "I, Derran Grandel, the Doom Slayer, Lord and High Commander of the Doom Legion, hereby swear myself and my brothers, to the eternal service of the Seraphim, your kingdom, and the holy Light." The Doom Slayer's voice, though calm, was filled with a near fanatical fervor as he spoke. While the princesses expressions became increasingly bewildered and concerned with every word they heard. "We shall be both your invincible shield, and your almighty sword! Your wish, shall be our commandment! Your whim, shall be our edict! And your order, shall be our law! We shall be your holy guardians, from now until our bones are dust." Here the Doom Slayer rose to his feet, turning to his brothers as he raised his fist to the sky, his voice a booming roar, as he called out. "ALL HAIL THE SERAPHIM!!" Before the stunned expressions of the princesses, over ten thousand voices echoed the Doom Slayer's shout, the sound shaking both the castle, and surrounding town, to their foundations. Every voice filled with a devotion and determination, that only the unquestioningly faithful can manage.
"ALL HAIL THE SERAPHIM!!"
Celestia and Luna stared at each other for a moment, too shocked to say or do anything. Both knew from the mind reading spell what the Seraphim were, and both knew with absolute certainty, that they were most definitely not Seraphim. Clearing her throat, Celestia attempted to let Derran down gently. While his words were undeniably flattering, neither she, nor Luna, could allow so outlandish an idea to go unchallenged.
"We appreciate thine and thy brothers offer, Lord Grandel, but thou needn't go so far. Our sister and ourselves are no divine beings, and we do not require any service or repayment, least of all for helping those in need." Here Celestia offered a kindly smile. "Even if we were to accept, the only order we could think to give, would be that thou live thy lives happily, however thou might wish to." Luna nodded her agreement.
"Our sister is quite correct, the only thing we have ever truly desired from thee, is thy friendship. We require nothing more than that." For a moment, the two sisters thought it had worked. Until Derran turned to give them a look that was nothing short of worshipful.
"And that, my ladies, is why we must serve you. Never in the actions nor tales, of men, demons, or gods, have I seen or heard of the selflessness, humility, and kindness, you have demonstrated with your every word and action. Make no mistake, you are Seraphim. . . and it is only to you alone, that I will ever bend my knee." Rising to his feet, Derran Grandel, A.K.A the Doom Slayer, re-sheathed his sword, fastening his scabbard back into place, before giving the princesses a gentle smile. "Now then my ladies. . . what would you have your Guardians do?"
Twilight and the others stared at Derran and the princesses, as the images within the silver mists of the proiectura anima dissolved into nothingness. It took some time before anypony felt ready to speak, as they struggled to process these latest revelations.
"Wow. . . just. . . wow." Rainbow Dash declared, at a complete loss for words.
"I. . . honestly don't even know where to begin." Shining Armor commented, staring at Celestia, Luna, and Derran with a slightly shell shocked expression.
"No kidding." Spike agreed. Twilight let out a slightly exasperated sigh.
"Well, I guess if nothing else this explains why I can't get Derran to accept that alicorns aren't goddesses." She declared, clearly slightly annoyed. Celestia nodded.
"And that was before he and his brothers found out we control the sun and the moon." Celestia stated with a roll of her eyes. Luna nodded.
"Apparently, on D'nur, the day and night, as well as the seasons and weather, are controlled entirely by naturally occurring forces, as opposed to magic. So it did not help our case, when Derran and the Legion found out that Celestia and I can move objects the size of stars on a whim." Luna explained, before glaring at Celestia. "Though if somepony hadn't insisted on showing off raising the sun to Derran, we perhaps could have convinced him." Celestia responded to this by puffing out her cheeks in an indignant pout.
"As I recall, it was you dear sister, who took him on a tour of the dream realm prior to that. Not to mention, you were the one who convinced him to stay with us at the castle, so it was inevitable he'd find out sooner or later." She declared pointedly. Luna swiftly directed another annoyed glare at her sister.
"I did not hear you complaining when you were stuffing your face with his cooking." She shot back. Celestia blushed.
"Well. . . who knew a career soldier would be such a gifted chef." She replied with an embarrassed giggle.
"Sounds like you both have a lot of wonderful memories from back then." Fluttershy interjected, cutting off Celestia before she could say more.
"Indeed lady Fluttershy, the memories I have of that time are among my most treasured." Everypony turned as Derran opened his eyes, a small smile adorning his features as he elaborated. "After my brothers and I swore our oath, and burned all our weapons and armor we-" Derran found himself interrupted as Rainbow Dash spoke.
"Wait! What?! You burned all that sick looking gear?!" She demanded, sounding scandalized. Derran nodded.
"With the exception of the Hellbanes, every weapon and scrap of armor we had was made of demonic flesh and bone. My brothers and I decided that, even if already dead, demons had no place in this realm. So the instant we were able to acquire proper clothing, I ordered the Elder Guard to create a magical bonfire that would reduce our gear to harmless cinder. Only the Hellbanes were spared, as, even if we knew of a way to destroy them, they were artifacts dedicated to the destruction of evil, and thus we felt it prudent to retain them." Rainbow Dash nodded, but still looked slightly crestfallen.
"But. . . you looked so metal!" She declared in a disappointed tone. Derran let out a laugh at that.
"Remind me to someday tell you the story of how the Praetor Suit was made lady Dash, I have a feeling you will enjoy it. Now where was I? Ah, yes. Over a period of months my brothers and I slowly integrated ourselves into your world. Staying in Bridledown we were welcomed as fellow Equestrians, I cannot even describe how wonderful that time was. To perform tasks that didn't involve killing, to have conversations where we could truly feel at ease, to be able to genuinely smile." Derran sighed happily as he recalled the memories. "We of course, never forgot our oath, whenever there was a threat to the Seraphs or Equestria, we would act upon it. I even assigned the Lion Guard and Dragon Guard to act as lady Celestia and Luna's personal military forces. Renaming them the Solar, and Lunar, Guard's respectively." Shining Armor suddenly looked slightly put out.
"Wow. . . suddenly I feel really inadequate." He deadpanned. Derran chuckled.
"To be fair my Lord, Equestria has stood strong for over one thousand years without my brothers and I, so clearly you are doing something right." Shining smiled, feeling a bit better at the praise. "Regardless, apart from the occasional wild beast attack, my brothers and I seldom had need to fight. That gave us plenty of time for other pursuits, to reawaken old skills, to forge new bonds, even. . . to once again find love." Here Celestia, Luna, and Twilight blushed, as Derran favored them each with a loving smile.
"Oooh, do tell us about that darling!" Rarity interjected giddily, her eyes shining with excitement. "No doubt it was a truly epic romance, filled with drama and passion!" Derran's face reddened to match his three marefriends as he cleared his throat.
"Well, I am not quite sure if I would put it in exactly those terms. It was actually a bit of a surprise to me initially." Derran explained. Celestia smiled happily.
"Derran, Luna and I, became pretty much inseparable. At first we just wanted to make sure Derran's mind could heal fully, but. . . ." Luna giggled as her sister trailed off.
"He was always there when we needed him most. He listened to our every word, and he would do anything to keep us safe. What choice did we have but to fall in love with him?" She inquired with a wide grin. Celestia nodded.
"Derran was the first pony to let me be me." Celestia declared. "Whenever the princess life got me to the point where I was a hairsbreadth from screaming, Derran would find a way to let me blow off steam. He would sneak me out of the castle so we could have fun, or help give my counselors and advisors the runaround, whenever he knew I needed some me time." Celestia explained. Luna smiled as she related a few memories of her own.
"Derran was always there every morning after I finished my duties, with a pot of tea, and a breakfast made especially for me. When I was stressed, he would read me to sleep, or sing to me, or give me a massage with those wonderful fingers of his." Luna's expression became one of momentary rapture at her mention of the massages, while everypony else worked to hide a faint twinge of embarrassment. After a moment however, she continued. "Even when he was obviously busy or tired, he made time for me, and did everything he could, to let me know I was appreciated." Rarity beamed at that, while everypony else responded with wide grins. Twilight smiled warmly as she recalled the various times Derran had given her advice, helped her have fun, or acted to lighten her workload. While Cadance hugged her husband and wiped a tear from her eye. Celestia chuckled.
"We actually both confessed our feelings to Derran at the same time. Things got a bit. . . intense, between Luna and I, until Derran explained he could never favor one of us over the other." Luna let out another slightly coquettish giggle at that statement.
"That was when we both realized, that Derran was simply too magnificent a stallion for any one of us to keep him all to ourselves. Wouldn't you agree Twilight?" Luna asked, her tone a mischievous purr that instantly turned Twilight's face bright red, causing everypony present to chuckle. Clearing his throat, Derran did his best to hide the blush on his own face as he picked up the story.
"At any rate, we dated for about four months in secret, before the. . . Discord incident, happened." Derran explained, his hands tightening into fists. Celestia and Luna's expressions became frowns for a moment, as they also recalled what had happened. "After that, our relationship went public in a most explosive manner. Fortunately though, the furor died down reasonably quickly." Here Shining Armor gave Derran a puzzled look.
"Well, aside from that, it sounds Like you and your brothers were really happy here. So. . . what happened?" Instantly Derran's expression darkened, and to all those around him, it suddenly seemed as though the surrounding temperature had suddenly dropped several degrees. Derran's face was like a cold unfeeling mask, his voice suddenly filled with a tone of long simmering fury.
"The same thing that happens to every incautious commander. . . our enemies found us." Everypony present stared at Derran with suddenly worried expressions, as he elaborated. "All in all, my brothers and I received about nine months of freedom from our war. Nine months of pure bliss in this land of Equestria, which we came to know as the gates of heaven itself. Nine months without nightmares, without madness, without the need to sleep with one eye open. Nine months, in this land that had become our new home. . . nine months, of hoping our enemies had forgotten us." Once more settling himself under the shadow of the massive circular stone marker at the center of the field, Derran closed his eyes, the silvery tendrils of the soul projection spell pulsing faintly with light. "The day that all ended, was one of infamy beyond measure for the Legion." He explained, his expression like frozen granite. "Just as we catalogued the miracles of the Seraphim, so to did we chronicle one of the darkest days in Legion history. That day, in which our past came for us, was a day such, that even now I can hardly stem the rage I feel for it. Among the Legion, that event came to be called, 'The Day of Wrath'." Derran declared, his hands gripping his knees in anger as the proiectura anima once more took him into it's depths. . .
"Lord Doom Slayer. Please, won't thou attend our sister and ourselves at the table?" Setting down the reports he had been helping the princesses sift through, Derran looked up at Celestia and Luna. Currently, the pair were seated at a table on the balcony of the south west tower. From that vantage they were afforded a magnificent view of Bridledown, as well as the crystal clear blue sky and green rolling hills beyond it. Sitting on a pair of cushions, the two princesses sipped tea from an exquisitely decorated china tea set, and nibbled daintily at hot blueberry scones taken from a plate between them on the table. Currently the table was set for three, but the third invitee was absent.
"Milady, you know you needn't call me by my title. To you I need only ever be Derran, and to have you of all beings refer to me as 'Lord' is honestly rather disturbing." Celestia rolled her eyes good naturedly at the irony of her and her sister's newly designated consort, demurring at being called by a title far less grand, than those he and his brothers heaped upon her and Luna. "Truth be told," Derran continued. "I would happily answer to 'subject', or even 'servant', would it but please you." Celestia grinned.
"And what if we were to refer to thee as something along the line of say. . . concubine?" She asked with a sensual purr.
"Oooh," Luna declared playfully, clapping her forehooves together excitedly. "we rather like that idea sister!" She declared, giving Derran a look that even he couldn't help but feel a slight thrill at. He would be the first to admit that, initially at least, he had had some, reservations, about physical intimacy with a species other than his own. However that had swiftly faded after his and the princesses first few dates. Now he no longer even made much physical distinction between humans and any of the sapient species of Equestria. Now, as far as Derran was concerned, the only thing you needed for a relationship was to be in love, sentient, and of proper age. What's more, once you spent a little time with them, you began to notice that the ponies of Equestria were a lot more physically similar to humans than you might think. Suddenly, Luna's eyes narrowed, and a devious smirk came to her lips. "Perhaps we should invent a new title for our love? How doth: Royal Chief Attendant of Rutting and Romance, strike thee sister?" Celestia placed her teacup on it's saucer with her magic, matching her sister's grin as she did so.
"Now there is an interesting idea. . . ." She drawled. Derran, doing his level best not to blush, gave a slightly embarrassed smile as he cleared his throat.
"How about, whenever we are alone together, we all simply address each other as: Beloved? Would that be an acceptable compromise?" He offered. Luna and Celestia pretended to mull it over for a bit before nodding.
"We suppose 'beloved' is an acceptable term of endearment." Celestia declared, with feigned resignation. "Since thou all but refuse, to call us Celly and Lulu." She stated airily, referring to the last set of pet names she and Luna had come up with, and that Derran almost never used. "Now, put thy labors aside for a moment and come join us. . . beloved." Derran Chuckled as he put away his work and rose to his feet.
"As my beloveds command." He stated with an elaborate bow. Joining the princesses at the table, Derran poured himself a cup of Dragonleaf tea, and reached for a scone. However, halfway through the gesture, he suddenly froze, the teacup halfway to his lips. Without explanation, Derran placed the tea haphazardly aside, spilling nearly all of it in his haste. Swiftly rising to his feet, he did not even seem to notice the scalding liquid covering his hand, walking toward the tower balcony as if in a trance.
The Princesses stared at him in mute shock, as he placed his hands on the balcony railing, glaring silently out at the horizon. "Something. . . is wrong." He finally declared, his voice a low growl. For an instant, Celestia and Luna looked at Derran in confusion, unable to imagine what he could possibly be talking about, then. . . they felt it. It was as if suddenly the air was filled with a static charge, the smell of ozone mixing sickeningly with a faint smell of sulfur and spilled blood. A feeling that they could only think of as a 'greasy wind', seemed to flow over them. The princesses shuddered, their coats standing on end, as pure revulsion overtook them. A faint hissing that seemed to come from everywhere at once filled the air, like a nest of poison serpents lurking just beyond their sight.
"Derran?!" Luna began, trying to keep her fear under control. "What is this?!" Derran did not respond, his gaze fixed on the hills in the distance, the ones that had once hidden the old Legion camp from view.
"It can't be!" He whispered under his breath, his tone seeming to waver between fear and rage. "They can't have found it!" Celestia, fearing more for Derran than the unpleasant shift in atmosphere, placed her hoof gently on his shoulder. Derran didn't appear to notice, his gaze unwavering, as Celestia opened her mouth to speak. However the words died in her throat, as a sound like none she had ever heard, struck them all like a physical blow. It was as if every horrific monster ever seen, heard of, read about or imagined, had inexplicably appeared beyond the hills, and screamed or roared in pure fury at the top of its lungs. The sound was beyond awful, seeming to claw at the very sanity of any unfortunate enough to hear it. The sound nearly overwhelmed Celestia, inexplicably filling her senses with phantom sensations, in her mouth she suddenly tasted blood, while on her coat and in her mane, she felt the scuttling legs and probing feelers of a swarm of invisible centipedes, spiders, and roaches, while the smell of rotting meat flooded her nostrils.
Nearly falling over, Celestia channeled her magic, intending to surround herself, Luna, and Derran, in a sound dampening spell. To her surprise however, the instant she tapped her magic, the phantom sensations vanished. The sound persisted, yet, now seemed less intense, and far less frightening. However, Celestia had little time to consider this turn of events, as she noted a new horror revealing itself. Even as Celestia watched, the sky beyond the balcony seemed to inexplicably darken, as if filled with a thin smoke. The sun dimmed until it was but a hazy disc of sickly yellow, in a sky that had become an ugly bruise-like purple, shot through with red. However, all this was but a minor sideshow to the sight that had just appeared atop the distant hills.
Celestia did not need to ask to know what they were, even this far away, she had seen these horrors enough times in Derran's memories to know them intimately. There were thousands of them, tens of thousands! Cresting the hill, legions of hell knights stomped forward, alongside the waddling bulk of an equal number of mancubi, and dozens of formations of hell razers, each at least eight hundred strong. Hundreds of barons of hell moved through the press, urging the unholy army forward with roars and gestures. A veritable carpet of seething imps and undead, flowed around their larger kin like an obscene river. Some of the hell knights herded masses of roaring and snapping pinkys forward with goads and chains of black iron, as above it all, the sky teemed with drooling cacodemons, shrieking lost souls, and sedately hovering summoners. Even these were just the demons Celestia could recognize, many within the hoard were completely unknown to her, or unrecognizable among their fellows. Celestia's eyes widened as she took in the army before her, spreading out across the land like an unending flood of darkness.
Celestia felt her blood freeze in her veins, as she watched the hoard approach Bridledown. Marching at a slow steady gait, it was clear they were in no hurry. Happy to let the terror build as they approached. Down in the town, Celestia saw her little ponies running for the castle, no doubt hoping she and Luna had some kind of plan or answer. She had neither, nor did Luna, who was as frozen as she was, watching the approach of what was likely the end of their world. In contrast however, Derran's brothers ran in the opposite direction of the ponies, gathering at the town's edge, to stare in disbelief at the enemy they had thought never to see again. Celestia saw them, as one by one they fell to their knees, overcome with sorrow and anguish. . . she didn't need to be close, to know they were blaming themselves. Despite everything, tears wet Celestia's eyes as she thought how cruel this all seemed. Hadn't these stallions and mares suffered enough, hadn't the multiverse, suffered enough?
"Derran?!" The startled sound of Luna's voice broke Celestia from her sorrow, directing her attention to his figure hunched over the railing of the balcony. Celestia's eyes widened, her mouth opening in a startled exclamation, her voice frozen by her shock. From head to toe, Derran Grandel. . . was engulfed in black fire.
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Derran stared out at the demonic hoard with a numb shock. "How?" He thought. "How did they find the portal?!" After Derran had been freed from the Doom Slayer's control, and declared the Legion would remain in Equestria, he had taken every possible precaution against this scenario. Khamun had assured him that their best defense was simply how unlikely it was that the demons would even find the portal. Khamun and Magnus had told him that in addition to being insanely rare in general, naturally occurring transdimensional space-time distortions were extremely hard to find, unless you knew exactly where to look, and what to look for. Still, Derran had taken no chances, they couldn't permanently erase the space-time distortion without trapping at least some of their number in Hell, but they could seal and ward it. The entire Elder Guard had spent months enchanting the dormant portal, and its surroundings, with every kind of aegis, ward, concealment spell, and seal know to D'nuriean magic. Even then, Derran had ordered a permanent force field be created at the distortion nexus, preventing anyone or anything from so much as getting near it. He had even had them place a number of insanely powerful trap spells inside the shield. Derran and the Legion had done everything they could think of to protect their new home, but it hadn't mattered. They. . . had failed.
Derran felt as if his very soul was being crushed, as he leaned heavily on the balcony railing. He had failed. . . just like he failed to protect his home. . . just like he had failed to protect his people. . . just like he failed to protect his family. Despair overwhelmed Derran, as his grip tightened upon the railing. Images of his family ran through his head, their faces. . . their voices. . . and finally, their mangled bodies. As if in a dream, he stood before their corpses, surrounded by a void of black nothingness. Then, a moment later, more corpses appeared. Like a great flood, they poured out of the void in an immense roiling tide, piling beneath Derran's feet until he stood atop a mountain of the dead.
To his horror, Derran realized that he recognized their faces. There was one of his brothers, who died creating an opening for him to kill the fifth lord of hell. There was an assassin who had tried to murder him in the days before the Legion's formal creation, alongside a boy who, overwhelmed by demons during an ambush, Derran had blown up with a grenade. And there, was an elderly woman Derran had slain after the horrors of Hell drove her mad. On and on they came, the corpses Derran had created, the deaths he had caused. A child and mother he had left to the demons when they had fallen behind, a man he had executed for stealing rations, a brother who died completing what Derran knew was a suicide mission. Finally, the flow stopped, and Derran's heart froze to stillness with it, as he saw the nature of the newest corpses surrounding him. They were ponies, all residents of Bridledown, and there at Derran's feet. . . were Celestia and Luna. Their bodies covered in blood, and their faces twisted into expressions of pure agony. Then, in a flash, Derran was back in Equestria, staring once again at the hoard of advancing Demons.
That was when Derran felt it. . . rage, rage like none he had ever encountered in all his long and terrible history with the emotion. In his veins, it was as if his blood had become magma, in his lungs, his every breath was as fire, and in his heart, the uncaged fury of a volcano exploded outward. Derran's world was eclipsed by crimson. He did not see the black fire that covered his body, nor his eyes become pools of blazing red light. He did not feel the stone railing he was holding become dust in his grip, nor the bone shattering impact of the ground as he leapt nearly eighty feet from the castle tower. He did not hear the inhuman roars coming from his throat, nor the sound of over ten thousand voices echoing his cry of hate. Within his mind, Derran felt the Doom Slayer's chains shatter as he took control, but he did not care. Only one thought dominated Derran's blazing mind. "Never again!"
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Celestia and Luna stared in horror at the events unfolding before them. Derran, his body alight with the same unholy flames that covered the monstrosity that had possessed the Doom Slayer, let out a roar so powerful, it actually caused the stones around him to crack. With a movement so fast it was almost invisible, Derran leapt into the air, his form trailing wisps of ethereal flame and smoke. As the stone railing before him disintegrated in the face of a strength that no mortal should posses. As the princesses watched, Derran struck the ground with the force of a comet, the earth fissuring beneath him in an expanding ring of cracks. Not wasting a moment, he became a blur of black fire and unholy sound, as he made a beeline for the edge of town.
"Sister. . . ." Luna trailed off, the words catching in her throat as she saw the area Derran was heading towards. However there was no need for Luna to explain. Celestia was all too aware of what her sister was looking at. There, at the very edge of Bridledown, were the warriors of the Legion, who at the sound of their lord's enraged cries, and the sight of the demonic horde before them, underwent a terrifying transformation. Gripping their heads in agony, the members of the Legion doubled over. . . as brilliant red flames erupted from their bodies. Staggering for an instant, the men slowly raised their heads, directing their gaze to the demonic host a mere half mile away. Expressions of shock and horror suddenly changed, twisting in ways the human face was never meant for, to express a wrath so terrible, even the Darkness itself would cower from it. Fingers curled as if flexing claws, clothes tightened as muscles bulged, veins distended, and eyes became pools of bloody red light. And then, from a place deep within the darkest pits of the human soul, came a roar. . . and for that one instant. . . every creature capable of it, in Equestria and beyond. . . trembled in fear.
The charge that followed that roar, was as sudden as it was terrifying. Surging forward, the soldiers of the Legion moved like beasts from the primeval dawn of time. Slightly hunched, they charged forward with the bloodcrazed madness of wounded animals, their hands slashing through the air before them, or held wide as though ready to rend and tear. The wrathful violence within them simply too great to allow for tactics or proper battle form. Roaring and screaming, they moved at a speed no normal human could ever hope to match, their bodies a blur of acceleration and wrath.
Moving through the blazing cacophonous hoard of his brothers. Derran's black flamed form eclipsed them all as an expression of sheer hate. The flames around him billowing and twisting, till to the eyes of the princesses, it seemed as if they formed a shape. For just an instant, Celestia and Luna would have sworn to seeing a suggestion of great black wings, and a halo of fire so dark that the blackness around it seemed grey in comparison. Yet just as the image appeared, it was torn away, as the midnight shrouded figure of Derran reached the front of the press of his brothers, to meet up with the only other figure who's flames were of a different color than red.
Michael Santius, if Derran was a storm of violence, then he was undoubtedly the storm's eye. Like his lord, his fury was that of a level that thoroughly transcended anything that could be called human. However, where Derran burned with the fury of a blazing whirlwind, disintegrating all it touched, Michael was like a blizzard. Surrounded in an aura of ghostly white flames, his anger was like a frozen wasteland, cold, unfeeling, and brutal. His expression, usually calm and smiling, was a mask of righteous fury, his eyes blazing pools of golden light that seemed to proclaim judgement upon all who saw them. Michael alone did not roar or howl, he didn't need to, his icy gaze was far more frighting than any scream or war cry.
However, despite this display of inhuman fury, Celestia and Luna still felt their hearts seize, as they saw the force arrayed against their new friends and beloved. Even a cursory glance, was enough to tell the princesses that the Legion was outnumbered by at minimum, five to one. To say nothing of the fact that the humans were utterly bereft of armor or weapons. This charge was suicidal, and the demons seemed to know it, as the smarter among them roared out what seemed to be a challenge, others appearing to jeer, and even laugh. One baron, gave an arrogant swagger as he charged a massive ball of balefire, and lobbed it at the charging Legion. Celestia could almost feel the expression on the creature's face shift, as the ball of blazing green death arced a quarter mile through the air, toward the uneven line of the Legion charge. . . only to be swatted aside as if nothing more than an errant fly.
Soundtrack: Prophecy of Ragnarok by Brothers of Metal
Suddenly seeming far less certain of things, the baron let out a bellowing roar that was swiftly echoed by the other barons around it. The roar was undoubtedly some kind of signal, as every imp, cacodemon, baron, hell razer, and other demon with the ability to engage at range, filled the air with every form of destructive energy at their disposal. For nearly half a minute, the Legion was rendered invisible by flares and beams of hellfire, explosive detonations of psychically charged plasma balls, and erupting blasts of balefire and hellish bio-napalm. Smoke and ash obscured everything, the plants upon the ground instantly reduced to cinder and sparks, as the very earth was turned to molten glass and slag. A moment later, the barons ended the vicious bombardment with another series of roars. For an instant after the fusillade tapered off, there was silence, and Celestia and Luna's hearts seized. . . until the Legion exploded out of the flames and smoke. Their clothing had turned to disintegrating rags, and their shoes were burned away by the melted ground, but the flesh beneath that clothing was untouched. To the demon's horror, the Legion, had not even slowed down.
One of the barons, now clearly afraid, tried desperately to restart the bombardment. As those demons unfortunate enough to be part of the front line, broke in a panic, killing each other in a frantic attempt to escape. However by that point, it was far too late. . . .
The Legion charge struck the demonic army with so much force, that the demons at the front line seemed to explode. Urged on by their insensate fury, the Legion did not slow down so much as a single step, until their charge had punched halfway through the demonic ranks. Those demons in their way, were either thrown aside as though nothing more than rag dolls, or trampled into paste beneath the humans unshod feet. Then, as their momentum ebbed, the individual members of the Legion went to work. However, this was no carefully planned assault, there was no strategy here, and no discipline, only rage. Yet, it seemed to the princesses, that rage alone, was more than enough.
Celestia and Luna tried from their vantage to keep track of what was happening, but there was simply to much going on for even them to follow everything, as the individual members of the Legion dispersed to wage individual battles. Tearing their way through the demonic formation from within, or spreading out from the back, to push forward against the rapidly disintegrating front line of the monstrous hoard. To Celestia and Luna, it was almost like watching a burning brand thrust into a pile of tinder, the flame spreading out from its source, to turn all in its path to ashes.
In one area the princesses saw a group of hell razers set upon by two members of the newly renamed Lunar Guard. Outnumbered fifty to one, it should have been an easy fight for the demons, instead it was a massacre. Every blow from the first Lunar Guardsman's fists smashed through the demonic bodies like they were made of wet paper. One hell razer's torso exploded in a cloud of viscera from a strike to the sternum, its remains carrying enough force from the blow, for its bones to actually embed themselves in the monsters behind it as gory shrapnel.
Another pair of the unfortunate demonic infantry, were grabbed by the wrists of their left hands, and used as flails by the second guardsmen. Roaring like a wounded beast, the guardsmen sent the hell razers surrounding him flying through the air in twos and threes, as bloody broken messes. When the force of his attacks inevitably reduced his improvised weapons to nothing more than a pair of bloody arms, he simply grabbed another set and began again.
In another part of the battlefield, a member of Celestia's newly christened Solar Guard, waded into combat with a group of hell knights. With a single punch, he burst the head of the first like an oversized pimple, before catching the arm of a second in mid swing, and twisting the limb clean off. Lunging forward, the guardsmen grabbed another of the hell knights by punching his fingers through the flesh of its throat, and hooking them on its upper sternum like it was a coat collar. Pulling the hell knight forward, the solar guardsmen then used the jagged bone of the severed arm he held, as a sword. Ramming it right through the unfortunate creatures gut, in a spray of blood.
A few hundred feet from that, several Shimmer Guardsmen grabbed imps and hell razers by the point where their necks met their torsos, and simply ripped them in half like pieces of paper. While off to their left, a solitary guardsman the princesses knew from the Elder Guard, ripped a boulder from the ground with magic in a spray of dirt and debris, and began laying about with it with psychotic abandon. Guiding it with his left hand, the boulder crushed demons into paste by the dozen, while he simultaneously blasted burning holes through demonic bodies, with beams of blazing energy from his right hand, howling in savage fury the whole time.
In every corner of the battlefield, the Legion were simply obliterating the demon army. Using their now godlike strength and berserk rage to fullest effect. Fighting as individuals instead of a unit, they should have been easy prey, but whatever dark magic was now empowering them, made them simply too powerful to be overcome.
Desperately attempting to rally their army, a group of barons of hell banded together, attempting to bring enough power to bear to kill at least a few of their enemy. Celestia and Luna saw their mistake long before they did, as they all simultaneously charged Musashi Yamato. One of the barons roared, bringing its massive fist down on Musashi's head, only to strike nothing but earth, as the Lunar Guard's commander was swallowed by a pool of black energy. The baron just had time to look confused, before its horned skull exploded from a vicious flying kick. Musashi bursting out of another pool of darkness that appeared directly over the creatures head.
Musashi had told Celestia and Luna of this technique during one of their conversations with him. The ancient spell his homeland of Shido considered the cornerstone of almost every martial style in their country: Shadow Slip. A short range personal teleport spell, designed to give a superior degree of maneuverability to their soldiers. Like the Null spell it was taught to every soldier in Shido, unlike the Null Spell however, it was virtually unknown outside of that land, and took years to fully master. It was a credit to his skill, that even in this state of unthinkable fury, Musashi was an artist with the technique.
As the distant princesses watched, Musashi teleported in mid kick from his first dead opponent to the next, appearing in mid air near the small of its back and punching its spine out through its stomach. Before falling into another portal, and appearing to jump out of a second, shooting up from the feet of a third baron and splitting its skull in two with his flattened hand. The remaining barons, unable to predict Musashi's movements, or match his now ludicrous strength, were dead in less than ten seconds. As with a hateful roaring scream, Musashi charged off to find more victims.
At the opposite end of the battlefield, complete carnage reigned, as Khamun vented every ounce of his mystical wrath upon his foes. Levitating through the air, he seemed almost serene, despite being surrounded by cacodemons, spraying him futily with blasts of psychic plasma, that simply exploded ineffectively against the crimson fires pouring from his floating form. Then, raising his hand, Khamun made a slashing motion in the air with it, before mouthing the first coherent word any of the Legion had spoke since this all began. . . "Die!". Had either of the princesses been able to hear him, they would have shuddered at how the gentle voice of their friend, had now become a twisted inhuman snarl. As all around him, the cacodemons were suddenly sent hurtling towards the ground, with enough force to turn them, and everything directly beneath them, to paste.
Cutting his levitation and descending to the ground, Khamun hit with a shock wave of energy, that reduced every foe within thirty feet of him to dust in the space of an instant. Raising his hands to the sky, they began to glow with a flaring green and black radiance, an orb of similarly colored coruscating energy appearing above his head. With a scream of pure hate, Khamun clenched his hands into fists to bring them crashing down on the earth before him. In a flash, the area in front of the Elder Guard Commander seemed to explode, as dozens of tendrils of black and green lightning tore through the demonic ranks. The bolts, each thicker than a man's arm, blew apart everything they touched. Demons exploded like living bombs, while the ground beneath them fountained hundreds of feet into the air, with enough force that even the smallest stone fragment became deadly shrapnel. Those demons not instantly turned to a cloud of shredded skin and vaporized blood, were summarily torn asunder by bits of rock or shattered bone moving at hypersonic speed. The lightning blasts continued until the area before Khamun was turned into a semi-molten wasteland of gouged and broken earth. As he used a magically assisted leap to send himself hurtling toward the next closest crowd of foes, about a hundred feet away, the princesses turned to the next fight.
Continuing to watch the battle with a sort of horrified detachment, the princesses gaze focused on another familiar figure. On a rise about four hundred feet from Khamun, Leonidas fought. In his hands, he wielded what appeared to be a large sapling, pulled straight from the ground. Using the root bulb as a crude hammer, he struck the demons around him so hard and fast that it appeared as if he was surrounded by a billowing cloud of bloody mist. Finally however, the tree, unable to handle the immense strain of its new function, splintered into uselessness.
Leonidas seemed almost unaware of his weapon's destruction, as he struck an oncoming hell knight in the chest with a fist full of splinters, the creature's body exploding as if hit by a freight train. Roaring and snarling, the seething demonic hoard around Leonidas surged forward, burying him in an avalanche of flesh and muscle. For an instant, it seemed as if he might actually have been overpowered, until the mound of bodies exploded outward in a dull flash of red light, sending demon corpses and body parts sailing through the air in an expanding nova. The space around him cleared, Leonidas was revealed as a figure flaring with scarlet fire, his head thrown back in a bestial roar that echoed across the battlefield. Lowering his shoulder, Leonidas charged forward into the thickest mass of the enemy, smashing them aside as if no more than leaves hovering in the wind. Jumping into the air, the energy coming from his body flared again, as he struck the ground with his fist. With a thunderous crack, the earth shattered, a blast of red energy exploding outward, as it tore every demon within ten feet into chunks. As the demonic swarm struggled to flee, Leonidas charged again, his usual disciplined persona reduced to that of a rabid animal, as his blazing fists turned his foes into unrecognizable piles of gore.
To the princesses eyes, only one among the Legion fought with any true control. Michael, his body alight with flames of pure white energy, fought with a grace and fury that could scarcely be imagined. His arms, hands held flat and stiff, had become as blades. Jumping in where the enemy was most plentiful, he was a whirlwind of death, and as he fought, he spoke. His voice at once beautiful and powerful, rang out across the battlefield, seeming to extol his brothers to greater heights of wrath.
"AND LO DID I SEE AMONG THE LANDS OF PARADISE A GREAT PLAGUE OF EVIL!! AND IT'S NAME WAS DEMON!!" He roared, splitting a mancubus open like an overripe orange, in a fountain of blood and acid bile. "A DARK CORRUPTION SEEKING TO STRIKE DOWN ALL THAT IS PURE!!" He continued, cutting the legs out from under a baron of hell before spinning and decapitating it, as smoothly and elegantly as plucking a flower. His voice somehow carrying despite the roars and screams that threatened to drown it out. "YET LO AS RUIN DID SURROUND MY SOUL WITH DESPAIR!! THE LIGHT DID SHINE UPON ME!!" Michael's fervor was palpable, his voice filled with zealous rapture as he dismembered a hell knight, its limbs arcing gently through the air as he impaled its torso with his arm. Whirling around, he sent the limbless chunk of meat flying from his hand to crush a group of imps, as he continued to speak. "AND LO DID I HEAR THE VOICE OF WISDOM!!" He declared, leaping ten feet in the air to effortlessly bisect a cacodemon. "LO DID I BEHOLD THE FACE OF TRUE BEAUTY!!" He shouted, as he pirouetted on one foot to send a mass of hell razers flying in a cloud of severed limbs. "LO DID I KNOW THE NAME OF HOPE FOR THE SOULS OF MEN!!" Michal's voice echoed like thunder, another mancubus sliced nearly in half with the flat of his hand. "LO DID I KNOW THE NAME OF SERAPH!! AND THUS SHALL I KNOW FEAR NEVERMORE!!" Leaping high into the air Michael's golden eyes blazed with righteous fury, as he aimed for a massive group of frantically backpedaling demons. His arms held out like blades, his voice was a roaring crescendo as he descended, the demons screaming in terror as he proclaimed the end of his prayer like the judgment of heaven itself. "AMEN!!"
Pulling their gaze from the awe inspiring spectacle of Michael's battle to glance at the larger conflict, the princesses were shocked to discover that the fights they had seen thus far, were by a large stretch the most disciplined. If such a thing as discipline could even be said to exist, amid such unbridled insanity and chaos. Driven beyond all reason by hatred, the majority of the Legion were nearly indistinguishable from the monsters they were slaughtering. The red aura around them seemed to do more than simply increase their strength, speed, and durability, it made their every body part into a devastating weapon. Fingers functioned as claws, arms and legs like swords and spears, while heads became like battering rams. Punches and kicks either obliterated foes entirely, or sent them flying through the air with every bone in their bodies broken, and every organ turned to paste. Swipes of curled fingers split open demonic torsos, or amputated limbs. While any beast unfortunate enough to get inside a Legion member's guard, was grabbed and torn into pieces, or crushed into pulp by a bear hug.
The remaining demons, by now having realized that the only hope they had for survival was victory, fought with a suicidal desperation. Yet any blow that hit, no matter how strong, had no more effect than to maybe knock the target back a pace. Energy and hellfire blasts were completely ignored, the aura around the Legion shedding projectiles that would have turned boulders to vapor, like they were no more than a spring rain. Blows that should have crushed men like bugs, were swatted aside like flies, or caught in mid air, and used as levers to hurl attackers away with the force of wrecking balls. Realizing that their strength alone was no longer enough, the demons tried to bury their foes in their numbers, much like they had tried to do with Leonidas, and to largely the same result. However, even motivated by such desperation, there was one figure the demons genuinely seemed unwilling to attack, his aura of ebon fire making him easy to distinguish amid the chaos.
Through the insanity of the battle, Derran Grandel, the Doom Slayer, charged ahead like a spear thrust into the enemy ranks. His movements were unlike those of his brothers, as he moved as a blur through the heart of his foes, his course straight as an arrow. The air seemed to shimmer around him, as the earth beneath his feet cracked like glass. The demons seeming to instinctively part before him, often moving before they even saw him, their monstrous faces twisted in terror. Those who were too slow, were struck down with quick, vicious blows, that caused them to burst into red mist. Demonic bones and flesh atomizing at the touch of his dark aura, regardless of their size. Indeed, the demons terror of him was so great, that they would flee even if the only other path was into the reach of his brothers. The princesses had little understanding of the demonic mindset, but they shuddered when they considered what actions Derran might have preformed, to inspire this level of fear in such vile monstrosities. The mere fact that the demons considered death at the hands of Derran's brothers better than death at his, spoke volumes.
Despite clearly being afflicted by the same wrathful madness as his comrades, Derran moved with purpose. His steps guiding him swiftly and unerringly, toward a point over the hills, well beyond the princesses sight. Acting almost without thought, Celestia cast a simple scrying spell, allowing her and Luna to see what was happening. As Derran and the Legion, began pushing the invasion back, mere minutes after it began. The spell resolved into a large shimmering disc, floating before them at eye level. Within it, the princesses saw things as if looking from about a hundred feet above the rise Derran had just vanished over. It was the work of an instant, to determine where their beloved was heading.
Standing before a large gate of swirling black and red energy, stood a creature seemingly born of madness. It was at least thirty feet tall, its shape basically humanoid. Bulging with muscles, the creature's skin was bright crimson, black distended veins standing out along the biceps of four arms, easily as thick as fully grown oak trees. Attached to the arms was a torso roughly the size of a small house, supported by two massive pillars of flesh that functioned as the beast's legs, each so large it would take three full grown men, with hands joined, to surround it. Sprouting from its back, the monstrosity had six pairs of many jointed tendrils that reminded one of the legs of an insect, each tipped with a razor sharp spike of polished bone, that cascaded down its back like an obscene cloak. However, worst of all, was its head, a gigantic vertical slit of a mouth, filled with shark-like teeth, split the creature's face in two. Six bloodshot yellow eyes on either side of the mouth, looked out at the world through pupils like a cat's. The monster was dressed in baroque armor of iron. Scorched black, and streaked with rust the color of blood, the armor was forged to resemble screaming faces, whose mouths and eyes were lit by greenish balefire. In its four fists, each easily big enough to crush a carriage in its palm, the beast held swords half the length of its body, made of the same dark iron as its armor, and alight with flaring scarlet hellfire, as unholy runes, glowed dark bloody red along their hilts and blades. Last but not least, the creature wore a grotesque crown on its head. Made of a circlet of polished bronze, it was permanently affixed to the beast's head with giant spiked nails of black iron, ebon blood weeping from where they penetrated its skull, while jagged hellish runes carved into the nail heads, pulsed with the same filthy green light as its armor.
Even from this vast distance, and without actual line of sight, Celestia and Luna could feel the brutish aura of power this monster exuded. Even had Derran never described it, the princesses could not fail to know what this creature was. This was the creature the Legion had been hunting when they had initially arrived in Equestria, the second of the nine supreme Lords of Hell, the monstrosity known as 'Gorevashek', the Executioner of Mercy. . . .
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Gorevashek, was not a creature given to feeling wonder. His existence had, and always would be, defined by three things: battle, pain, and death. Wonder, was an emotion for mortal minds and other weaklings. A general did not wonder at the purpose of his enemy, anymore than a sword wondered about the nature of the creature it cut. A warrior did not wonder at the architecture of the village he was burning, nor a torturer the dress of the victim he was breaking. Yet, despite these truths, and his best efforts, Gorevashek, the Executioner of Mercy, the Scourge of the Bloody Pit, the Breaker of the Righteous, the greatest military commander Hell had ever produced, now felt just that emotion.
He had done everything right, he had gathered his forces in numbers great enough to completely overwhelm the enemy, even on the off chance they held a fortified position. He had carefully supervised the preparation and execution of the ritual that had blasted open the gate to his foe, and obliterated the worst of the traps and wards meant to slow intruders. He had swiftly and efficiently assembled his forces in good order, before the enemy had time to react, and he had struck with that greatest of tactical advantages: complete and total surprise. He had done everything right, yet still he stood here, wondering. . . wondering how it was that in the space of a few minutes, his superior force, and flawless strategy, was now teetering on the verge of defeat.
Many were the times Gorevashek's armies had faced the so-called 'Doom Legion'. Though he himself had never fought them directly. True, he had never secured a true victory over them, a fact that never failed to make his bile rise, however, never in his history of fighting them had he had a setback this severe. Gorevashek was not like other lesser demons, he had never bought into the mythos surrounding this group of mortal warriors. The idea that they were somehow favored by the hated forces of creation, or, even more absurd, favored by the Dark One himself, was laughable, if not blasphemous. It was undeniable that their skill in battle was quite impressive, and their leader was undoubtedly strong, by mortal standards anyway. Yet in the end, they were all still just mortals, that they had slain six of the Lords of Hell, revealed only that those Lords had grown weak and complacent, nothing more. . . or so Gorevashek had thought. What was happening now, was utterly beyond anything the second Lord of Hell could have imagined, let alone prepared for. Even as he watched, his force of fifty thousand strong demons was being cut down by at least half, in the space of less than ten minutes.
Yet nonetheless, Gorevashek would not be denied, even if he lost every soldier at his command, he would be victorious if he could do but one thing. . . kill the Doom Slayer. What did it matter if he lost this army? He was Gorevashek, his physical power was second to none! His skin was an armor that had never been breached, turning aside blades, bullets, and spells without fail! His strength was such that he had once split a mountain in two with a single swing of his swords! Let the other Lords of Hell waste time seeking power through magic and clever tricks, Gorevashek needed no such crutches for power, he was power!
Letting out a roar of fury, Gorevashek called fourth the ability that had made him the premiere general of the Dark One's chosen. Rippling out from Gorevashek, an aura of flaring green energy flowed across the bodies of his soldiers, granting them a portion of his strength and endurance. Instantly his soldiers began to rally, where once the Legion soldiers could simply obliterate demons with single punches, they now found their quarry shaking off all but the most terrible of blows. The demons shook the sky with their roaring shrieks as they struck back. Yet found, that despite their new boost in power, their claws, fists, and arcane blasts of flame and death, still slid off the Legion Soldiers skin to no visible effect. The battle, once close to becoming a rout, had transformed into a near stalemate, red and green battle lines surging against each other in a grinding bid for dominance.
The battle stable for the time being, Gorevashek now turned his gaze to the true fight. Moving through the second Lord of Hell's army like a ship through the sea, a figure cloaked in flames of purest darkness, made his way unerringly toward Gorevashek's towering form like an ebon comet. At last, it was time for two kings of battle to meet. Roaring his challenge, Gorevashek raised his swords. . . . and charged.
In battle, it is said that there are three kinds of warrior, that a general must always treat with utmost care. The first is the warrior who has nothing left to lose. For he fights without thought for his own safety, as for him there is nothing left but vengeance, and thus will fight with the power of three men. The second, is the warrior who fights for god, for such fanatics not only lack fear of death, but see it as their divine duty to destroy as many foes as possible before they succumb, and thus they fight with the strength of five men. Most terrible of all however, is the warrior who fights to protect hearth and home. Assured that his failure will mean the death of all he knows and loves, even the weakest peasant will be driven to fight without fear, he will seek the death of any he considers an enemy with mindless aggression, and will display an almost inhuman immunity to pain of any kind, thus shall he fight with a strength equal to ten men. Few generals or scholars of battle, ever dared to consider the scenario of a warrior, or army, fighting under all three of these conditions, but all agreed with the musings of the great general of Shido, Naga Lupercal, who wrote:
"Should I have ever had to face a foe who met all three of these conditions, even should I have possessed a thousand to one advantage, I would retreat or surrender. For were I to do battle against such a foe, even should I win, my army would be a ruin such that even a child could defeat me. Pity the fool who dares such a fight, for he shall know an enemy of such power, that neither the mightiest hero, nor the most vicious monster, can hope to conquer them."
Gorevashek had never read the writings of Naga Lupercal. If he had, he might have been less surprised, when his right ankle exploded. . . .
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In times to come, neither Derran nor the Doom Slayer, would find themselves able to completely recall their battle with the second Lord of Hell. Memories of the fight were mere flashes, every moment of which were drowned in a haze of red and black. They could not even rightly say which of them was in control during the fight, as what few memories they could remember clearly, seemed divided between the two of them. It was the Doom Slayer who recalled reaching Gorevashek, and almost effortlessly evading the swing of the sword clutched in his upper right hand, and the stab from the one in his lower right. However, it was Derran who recalled jumping, and throwing the punch at the point where Gorevashek's clawed foot joined to his leg. The force of the blow turning armor and bone into jagged fragments, and flesh into bloody vapor.
The massive limb, no longer able to support the incredible weight bearing down on it, collapsed, sending the supposedly invulnerable second Lord of Hell to his hands and knees, for the first time in eons. The Doom Slayer recalled his momentum carrying him to the ground behind Gorevashek where he rolled twice, twisting his body around so he was once more facing his foe. Now on all fours, the Doom Slayer slid to a halt. His hands and feet gouging a series of trenches into the earth as the remaining force of his charge bled off.
Rising to his feet, he saw Gorevashek twist himself around, to clumsily swipe at him with his lower right hand sword. Acting on pure wrathful instinct, the Doom Slayer turned, and threw his whole body into a punch aimed at the edge of the sword blade. The sword in question, a gigantic mass of enchanted demonic iron, distilled from the blood of a billion demons and mortals, was broken in two, with a sound like a bell the size of a mountain being shattered. An explosion of unholy magic blasted the Doom Slayer eighty feet through the air, before he struck a large boulder jutting out of the ground, that was subsequently smashed into gravel.
Derran remembered rising to his feet and shaking off the slight ringing in his ears, as he charged back into the fray. Gorevashek, taking advantage of the brief respite, had turned himself around fully, leaning forward, the strange multi-jointed tendrils covering his back bent over his shoulders to strike at Derran, in a lightning fast barrage of razor sharp bone spikes. Derran, roaring like an enraged beast, struck out with his fists, smashing aside the attacks with inhuman swiftness as he ran forward. However, despite his incredible speed, Derran could not stop all of the strikes, and though the attacks were unable to penetrate the black flames surrounding his body, they did drive him back on his heels. Gorevashek, doing his best to press his meager advantage, crawled forward on his lower hands and knees, using his upper set of arms to add his swords to the barrage. Derran however, suddenly jerked his body forward, wrapping his arms around all twelve of the stabbing tendrils. With a roar of absolute fury, Derran crushed the appendages he had manage to capture beneath each arm, with a force great enough to turn diamonds into powder. Crying out in pain, Gorevashek involuntarily snapped his upper body backward, as each of the dozen tendrils was severed in a spray of blood. With a clear path forward, Derran charged toward Gorevashek, as he frantically swung the swords in his upper hands at Derran from either side.
Gorevashek expected Derran to either duck under, or jump over, his blades, and indeed he might have, had the Doom Slayer not taken the helm. Instead, Gorevashek's eyes widened in utter disbelief as two swords, nearly fifteen feet in length, heavy enough that five barons of hell would struggle to lift them, sharp enough to cut through the armor of demons and angels alike, and powered by strength great enough to split a mountain in twain, was stopped dead, by the palms of the Doom Slayer. Struggling to comprehend the utter impossibility before him, Gorevashek hesitated for just an instant, more than enough for the Doom Slayer to act. Releasing the blade in his right hand, the Doom Slayer brought his fist down, with all his inhuman might, onto the one in his left, just behind where he gripped it. With an almighty crack, the blade was broken in two. Once more the energies contained within the enchanted weapons exploded violently outward. However, this time the Doom Slayer was ready for it. Bracing himself, he managed to remain upright as he held on to a massive fragment of the demonic weapon with an unyielding grip. Unexpectedly, Derran now found himself in control, but it hardly mattered, he knew exactly what to do. . . .
Gripping the sword fragment in both hands by the broken end, Derran spun in place, as Gorevashek struggled to get his guard up. Derran rotated over and over, the blade piece in his hands whistling through the air, as it picked up ever greater speed. Slowly, the blade began to burn with the same black flame surrounding Derran's body, as if he was passing a portion of his newfound power into it. Then, with an almighty heave, he released the blade like a discus. Gorevashek, unable to stand, with one sword reduced to half its length and another destroyed entirely, raised his last two blades to defend himself, instinctively moving them to protect his head. For just a moment, Gorevashek thought his opponent had missed, he felt no impact on his remaining swords, nor anywhere else. Glaring out at Derran from behind his swords, he moved to counterattack. Only to find his lower body. . . would no longer obey him.
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As he fell, Gorevashek, in a frozen instant of horrified clarity, saw the truth. As he took note of the piece of metal embedded, almost to its full length, in his gut. Gorevashek had instinctively protected the most vulnerable point he had, his head and face, but his finely honed battle instincts had betrayed him. His opponent, by sheer brutal cunning, took advantage of his ingrained responses, and instead threw the blade into his unguarded stomach. Ordinarily, this would have been a fools errand, against one such as Gorevashek. However, whatever dark transformation the Doom Slayer had undergone, had somehow imbued the blade with the strength and speed to punch through the second Lord of Hell's ensorcelled armor, slice through his supposed impenetrable hide, and sever his spine. Gorevashek, The Executioner of Mercy, who had never once failed in battle, who had never once been defeated, who's invulnerable body was the envy of all demonkind. . . had lost.
Panicking, Gorevashek struggled to prop himself up, only to freeze as he saw the Doom Slayer standing right before his eyes. As he met the Slayer's gaze, Gorevashek felt terror like none he had ever imagined or experienced. His head alone was easily twice this warrior's height, yet the second Lord of Hell felt as small and helpless as a child. Barely able to think, and too terrified to move, Gorevashek, in a voice more pathetic than he would ever have believed himself capable. involuntarily asked for the very thing he had been named for never granting.
"Mercy?"
Raising his burning fist, the Doom Slayer exuded a malevolence so terrible, that all the world seemed shrouded in darkness. As he replied:
"No. . . ."
Gorvashek, for just an instant before the Doom Slayer's strike sent his vile soul screaming into the void, wondered if perhaps, just perhaps, the unthinkable had come to pass? If indeed, against all logic and sense, this mortal actually had the favor of the Dark One. For who but the creator of Hell himself, could inspire such dread? Or command such fury? The last thought Gorevashek ever had, was that if such a thing be possible, then the time of endings. . . the time of the final battle. . . were soon to come. It was a shame, Gorevashek thought, he would not be there to see it. . . .
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Celestia and Luna watched as the battle ended. With the death of their leader, the Demons no longer enjoyed the protection he had granted them. The aura of green flame shielding them, flickering out the instant their Lord breathed his last. The Demon's numbers availed them nothing, as the Legion once more vented the full measure of their wrath upon their hated foes. Taking position in front of the portal, Derran slaughtered any demon who dared attempt escape. While his brothers ruthlessly crushed all resistance, and ran down any foe attempting to flee into the Equestrian countryside.
Scarcely one half hour after the battle began, the demonic host was completely destroyed. Their foe's now gone, Khamun, Magnus, and every other mage of any skill among the Legion, all but threw themselves at the unholy disc connecting Equestria to the depths of Hell. Chanting in savage tones, distorted by their undimmed hate, they wove sigils in the air with a vicious effort as they worked to close the gate. After several minutes of this, the gateway began to shimmer and waver as if merely a mirage, as Khamun stepped forward. His face twisted by rage, the commander of the Elder Guard, thrust his hands forward, a beam of blue and green energy blasting into the exact center of the gate. Little by little, the hole between dimensions shrank, till it was little more than a window. Then suddenly. . . it stopped. Khamun, his eyes blazing with unholy light, intoned his chant with ever greater rage, thrusting his hands forward as if wishing to strangle the life out of the gate with his bare hands. However the portal stayed open, seeming to struggle against the spell.
Up to this point, the princesses had been too overwhelmed to do more than watch what was happening. Despite all they had done in their centuries long lives, neither had ever participated in a true war. They had occasionally dueled with magic, and even knew a few martial arts. However, never once had they seen, let alone participated in, such pure wanton slaughter. The nature of ponies, and indeed most races in Equestria, was not to engage in violence, and the idea of killing or causing permanent harm was anathema. The princesses would defend themselves and their subjects if needed, but they had no true instinct for battle. Thus, it was with some shame, that they only now thought to offer aid.
Teleporting to the sight of the gate, Celestia and Luna linked themselves to Khamun and the Legion's combined spell. The coruscating beam of energy blazed with blue and gold, the light from it intensifying to be nearly blinding. For a brief moment, Celestia and Luna felt the gate fight against their efforts, as they began forcing it back into its natural semi-benign state. However, the resistance amounted to little more than a fleeting moment of hesitance, as the combined power of the princesses and the Elder Guard, crushed the gateway to the size of a pinprick, the distortion in reality stabilizing. Then, finally, at long last, the Gate slammed shut with a flash of blinding red light, and an echoing boom of imploding air.
Sitting down, the princesses disconnected themselves from Khamun, and breathed a sigh of relief as the sky returned to its usual dazzling blue, and the vile whispers that had scratched at the edge of hearing, abruptly vanished. Looking to one another, Celestia and Luna managed a faint smile. Around them, the corpses of demons carpeted the ground for thousands of feet in every direction. Piles of the demonic dead creating artificial hills a dozen or more feet high in places. The stench of blood and brimstone overpowered the princesses senses, to the point it felt like they could taste it, and the few clouds directly above them, had begun to clump together unbidden into a storm, despite their not being a pegasus in sight. Yet despite everything, the princesses smiled, for they knew that they had, thanks to the Legion, achieved a feat that few, if any, other universes had, they had survived an invasion by Hell itself.
Yet as they turned to thank their saviors, the princesses faces fell into expressions of shock. There the Legion stood, over ten thousand warriors, scattered across the field of battle. All stood covered in the blood of their enemies, most naked, or with only scraps of scorched, red stained cloth, clinging stubbornly to their bodies. Their faces were still contorted with rage, even as their eyes were closed. Before them all stood Derran, his hands at his sides, fists clenched, and eyes rolled into the back of his head, to reveal a gaze of bloodshot white, staring at the empty space the gateway had occupied. Approaching him, the princesses could almost feel his still simmering anger, as he stood completely still, he and his brothers, seeming little more than a forest of statues.
"Beloved. . . ?" Luna asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper, as she reached out her hoof to touch his hand, only to gasp in shock. Derran Grandel, and every one of his brothers. . . were completely unconscious.
"Sister. . . ." Celestia trailed off, her voice at once worried and relieved. Blinking, Luna finally noticed it. The flames that had surrounded Derran and his brothers. That had given them the strength and invulnerability of demigods. That had allowed a mere ten thousand mortals, to overcome fifty thousand of the most terrible monsters ever brought into existence, and that had allowed them to save the entire world. . . were gone.