What I Must Do
Let Loose The Dogs of War
It was soothing, tranquil even, the soft sound which provided an anchor to for the Arch Angel as the storm within his soul threatened to destroy all that he was..........and all that he will become.
Lillith, Distruttore's daughter, had tended to Salvatore while he was in a bed ridden state. She would hold water to his lips, sooth his restless heart and make conversation with him.........She never got an answer but he was listening maybe a part of her knew that.
While his daughter attended to the needs of his friend and pupil's present state he was ensuring that said friend's future state was not under threat. Yet a darkness would not relent, constantly standing over the Demon, and it was this darkness.........This shadow which led him to believe that the coming danger was due to arrive much sooner than even he could foresee.
One would think that within the soul of a gentle warrior that felled thousands of foes, held sorrow for such foes and regarded all things with balance and equal importance would be an energy of resonating power. A power which did not overcome but was not overcame, force that was unstoppable yet was always withheld and a tranquillity which held all with love and kindness yet would not be threatened or abused.
All of this was true........However the reason for Salvatore's torment was beyond what any being could fathom, that is, if they were not in the middle of his raging storm.
Salvatore's inner world was a furious storm, a storm of black clouds which sparsely gave way to the light of their deadly bolts, this storm loomed over a dark thrashing ocean, as though it was as restless as the one caught within it's deadly tantrum.
Atop the relentless waves was a small raft, crude and built in a shoddy manor. Frail as it seemed the meek construct endured the constant punishment thrust upon it, wave after wave.
Upon this raft sat Salvatore, his legs crossed in lotus fashion, his brown hair flailed wildly with the howling wind yet despite the madness he retained his composure. Eyes closed. Breath deep.
The night was young and already trouble was brewing.
Luna's toil was unknown to all but her sister, for only one in such a position could understand the effort required to craft a worlds entire cycle. Some would say that since Princess Luna creates the night skies and such a task is so so troublesome then why doesn't she ever have a rest from her toil?
The lunar Princess cared all to much about her little ponies and the perfection of her craft. It was like asking a painter why they spend so much time on the slightest details..........The answer is simple. Pride.
When one has a craft they will toil tirelessly, sometimes these crafts leave their creators restless and other times bring their creators much joy, all of this time and effort are spent in the hopes of one day perfecting their craft.
That was why Luna could not simply rest and leave the night barren of beauty.
Although this night was beautiful, the moon full and curvaceous with stars ignited alike distant lights in the night sky, the crafter of such beauty had her efforts and self placed elsewhere. Not in Canterlot as many would expect.........
But stalking the forest of the Everfree, slipping between the shadows, following her targets with the grace of a gentle breeze. The pair of ponies she stalked were clad in dark cloaks and currently heading towards a small cave with frustrated steps, as though they were in a hurry. The pair disappeared into the caves darkness and Luna swiftly followed however as moonlight illuminated her for a mere moment one would see the midnight blue cloak which hugged her curvy flank and the hood which allowed some of her enchanting hair to spill out, although this moment created quite the image, unfortunately there were no observers to admire such beauty.
When first entering the dark cave Luna wondered if this lead had any relevance. Her doubts were demolished when she caught sight of fire ahead, a sure sign of activity, approaching with caution the Princess could begin to make out a mass congregation of cloaked ponies in a gigantic cavern.
Luna gasped when she saw the large statue depicting a Demon. In front of this statue was a podium which a pony stood atop. Sinking into the shadows Luna knew she had found the source of one of the fanatical cults, bent on bringing Demons back to Equestria and serving them for eternity.
"Welcome, siblings". The pony atop the podium spoke, his voice wicked yet it held a deep tone. "Let us begin the ceremony".
As Salvatore continued to endure the storm his wings began to expand from their compact position, they opened slowly and soon dwarfed the Arch Angle, suddenly the crude, shoddy, raft felt sturdy. The red marking which covered his body then began to glow with the now familiar ruby light, though this time the light felt calm, such a glow could be seen through his right eyelid.
Soon a light blue glow began to outlined Salvatore's form, joining the ruby markings, This outline of energy soon grew into a graceful aura which waved about it's source like a gentle flame, the mix of blue and red creating a stark contrast, a blue glow began to shine through Salvatore's left eyelid.
Suddenly the red energy became lively and would of blinded the eyes of observers with it's glow. After this outburst red lightning surged around Salvatore's peaceful form, arching and crackling around him as if it was sentient, yet as with all lightning there must be a darkness and that darkness became apparent in the form of black wisps that tainted the purity of the blue aura. These wisps grew from Salvatore like wretched roots, searching for another being to infest itself within, this black energy was devoid of life or emotion.......It's only purpose was to consume.
Salvatore denied it this purpose and thus the storm began to calm.
Distruttore sat before the door to his home, his families home, the very home which had housed his ancestors since the founding of his families clan. He knew what was coming, he knew long before, the consequences of bringing an Arch Angel into Hell. Though those who were about to invade his home would not be shown mercy, for they will hold both fire and blade to his family and home, the home which had stood for so long in the name of the founding clan. The clan which founded the Nine Limb Demon Art, one of the most powerful Demon fighting styles known to all of hell.
"Come as you will". The heavy door burst into splinters as Demons began pouring through violated doorway. "It will not ease the suffering to come!"
Distruttore jumped into a fighting stance, with the elegance of a master, fists held at temples and elbows close to the ribs while he transitioned weight to the front leg. The first Demon to get within his range felt the devastating power of Distruttore's right cross going through their skull, the pain making them oblivious to the many shattered bones of their skull, the rest of the Demons body followed the direction of the force and that was back out of Distruttore's beloved homes desecrated door, the unconscious and soon to be dead Demon knocking over many of his own comrades.
"You will not desecrate my HOME!"