A Battleground of Kindness

by StormDancer

Slash Camp

Right!

So, the spell "Sacrifice" is a pretty simple cast for a warlock. It's fast. It's efficient. It's direct. And it's unstoppable. A warlock can just as easily sacrifice a minion as they can choose not to kill someone who accidentally sipped their drink at a feast.

Okay, bad example since a warlock miiiiiight actually have to debate a few moments about whether it's worth the effort to kill someone or not, but the ~idea~ is still there.

You can even paralyze a warlock and have a poison dissolving their skin while archers launch pointy flying sticks into their brains at high speeds and they can STILL sacrifice their demons to shield themselves for a few moments.

I mean, pointy sticks are great and all, but we're fekking DEMONS.... so, yheah. But the point is that warlocks can pretty much say 'no' to death for a few seconds and try to pull something off.

They're kind of known for it, actually.

So, yheah... sacrifice is not really unexpected, but it's been so long that I kind of just didn't.... you know? You get used to ~not~ dying a few dozen times a day and it's a little bracing? Kind of like having your insides poked with a sword after a long while... it's more startling than traumatizing... but still a shock.

Immortal. Don't give me that look. Demons are immortal. Death is kind of like a hobby that we all have. Some are better at it and some just kind of watch from the sidelines. Some even have dramatic catchphrases to spout as they go down and little diva couches they keep back home for when they're off the clock.

Because nothing says "Demon lord of pain and destruction" like seeing "Bregnor, the Unyeilding, Arch Duke of the 15 realms and Enslaver of the Everlasting Host", crying into a tub of rocky road while wrapped up in a fluffy pink bathrobe.

Drama queens.

But... I mean, it's been months.

...

Oh... hmmm... that's odd.

When a demon's killed, we tend to flop over and the physical parts of us kind of boil away into nothing while the rest gets yanked back to the Twisting Nether. We normally get a few minutes to chill with the guys, grab a drink or kick a few peons in the head... you know... a little R&R? But unless our warlock is taking a nap or calling up another contract, we're normally summoned right back up in no time flat.

And we generally don't have warlocks taking naps in the middle of combat. Well... I mean, the Master could probably swing it, but generally, no.

But what was strange was that, even though I'd just been sacrificed, I didn't boil away. I just kind of hung there in the air as my little fel flames flickered out.

Oh... I could still see and hear, even smell a little, but I couldn't move and I certainly wasn't throwing any magic around.

Was I broken? Did Stitchface learn some new, horrible, spell to bind me to my corpse? Was the Master really just THAT powerful that she simply REFUSED to let me die?

And then Stitchface got hit with one of those room sized walls of angry light that the Master seems to have become fond of using since her lair was destroyed, and I got dropped to the ground as the magic from the sacrifice was used up.

"Loud" doesn't begin to describe the ringing in my ears, nor "broken" the wall behind Stitchface. The town was clearly visible through the blown out section of mana crystal, as were the shimmering heatwaves coming off of a few smoldering roofs from the nearby homes. Gotta give credit where it's due, the Master aimed high enough to avoid cooking the town, though I think there might have been a few apple trees on that far hill that went up in flames.

Serves 'em right, being apples.

But, there, standing dead center, with a patch of ground radiating out behind her with a decided lack of scorch marks, stood Stitchface with a shocked, and possibly frightened, look on her face.

The Master seemed just as shocked.

And me? I kind of, would have, maybe, ~possibly~, looked shocked too.... but, you know... STILL DEAD HERE!!!!

Bugger all.

-~oOo~-

Well, doing nothing wasn't getting us anywhere, so I did the only thing I could think of.

Which was absolutely nothing since, you know, I didn't just spontaneously start living again.

Seriously, what were you all expecting? I'm an imp, an immortal demon in the service to others, but dead is still dead. Well, unless you're undead, which I'm not.

So, yheah! Fun times! Sprawled on the floor and NOT kicking back with the guys and having a good cackle over recent events. Nope. Not this guy. This guy's just laying there while the Master and Stitchface kind of traded glares.

Hmmm.... wonder how long it takes before I start to smell rancid. I mean, this is kind of unexpected, what with a demon's material body being mostly just magic used to give it solid form. I mean, does that mean I'm made of ACTUAL meat? Can magic rot? Is the Master's summoning spell different enough that I'm actually stuck in this meatsack?

And then there was a pink glow and I figured that my existential crisis could be put on hold.

The Master was standing over me again, and everything had taken on a pinkish glow.

Stitchface hadn't moved, but was looking equal parts confused and curious. You can always tell with her since her face is kind of stapled on and pulls a little to the left when she squints. Still not sure WHY she squints though... not like she has any eyes in those empty black sockets, but I mean I guess the yellow glow from the curse gets a little dimmer?

But there we were, the Master standing guard over me with Spike behind us and Stitchface halfway across the room with a pink bubble of the Master's magic as a shield between us.

Fun times.

The Master was panting a little, and she kept risking little glances down at me every so often, but for the most part, everyone just kind of stayed where we were.

Until Stitchface nodded slightly, raised her hands into the air and started wiggling her fingers.

Which the Master watched with curiosity.

I swear, sometimes her act is REALLY good. I mean, if I didn't know how insanely powerful she is, I could definitely mistake that look of measured fury as legitimate confusion. She just wiped out some ancient titan after conquering the known world and invoking forces that made an elder god apologize, and she was managing to pull off a 'clueless stupor' with class.

And then I felt something change inside me. A little 'pop' that didn't really hurt so much as just.... shift. Hmmm... wonder what the hells that was.

I heard the little gasp of my Master selling her 'surprised idiot' act right as a twist of pitch black smoke curled into existence next to Stitchface. An indistinct murmur seemed to thrum from that swirling void as a pair of smoldering blue wisps flickered into existence before six claw-like fingers heaved a hulking black form from the smoke. Tinges of blue rippled across it's body, a twisting, boneless, torso with a lump for a head. Legless, it floated just above the floor while a shifting blue and black miasma seemed to continuously boil away in the light of day. Two heavy gold shackle-bound limbs that ended in six clawlike fingers which clenched and flexed as its form solidified.

Its echoing bass voice seemed to leak into the room, changing position and volume at seemingly random times as it said "What.... do you want from me?"

Stitchface smirked before pointing to the Master, and the demon, a Voidwalker, turned to look where she pointed.

After a moment, it's response was something that I would have laughed at but I'd noticed something rather important: I was finally starting to boil away!

YAY! Not gonna be dead much longer. Let me tell you, being dead sucks.

Oh right...

The voidwalker.

And as my body finally began to really pop and sizzle, the voidwalker's words echoed around the room with all the weight of the gallows: "Sssssssend... me-back."

-~oOo~-

I would have laughed! It was the most sensible thing I'd ever heard a voidwalker say! I mean, yheah, those guys are leagues above an imp, they've got health to spare and the ability to inflict horrible suffering upon their victims, tormenting and ripping into their minds to induce rage and agony in equal measure. They literally FEED on fear and suffering and can even create a magical bulwark of sorts from the congealed essence of terror. They're tough enough to stand up to things many times their own strength and can STILL hit hard enough to fight off small mobs of enemies or collapse buildings BY HAND. Not too bright, voidwalkers, but they have it in the meatshield department.

And that smoking gap in reality had the sense to talk back to Stitchface and tell her it didn't want to fight the Master.

I mean, it could have just been whining, but I think it's funnier if it realized how boned it was.

I would have laughed. I mean, that big blue idiot was actually wanting no part of this whole thing. Might actually have just broken the intellectual curve for voidwalkers by being not-stupid enough to even try to fight the Master.

And then, I was back home. On the floor. With my nose stuck in the crack between two slabs of brimstone.

...

Yheah. Anticlimactic!

The Master was about to breaka-some-face and I just got dumped back in Embershole? Stichface had the gall to summon a voidwalker against the Master and my nose was stuck in a crack, dimensions away? A Voidwalker might have just graduated from demon-kindergarten for the first time in theoretical history and I didn't have a front row seat to the wails of its teacher's mental anguish after having had to suffer through it's 35 word vocabulary?

I mean, I know I'm a demon and all, but that's just bull!

So, after yanking my nose free, I brushed myself off, lit my hands on fire, and waited.

...

It's a legitimate tactic! When you get sacrificed, you KNOW that your warlock is going to summon you back to help skin whatever moron jumped them as soon as the magic bleeds off. It's how things are done. It's the natural order of all things ~warlock-y~.

As sure as screams follow shoeless children running through broken glass, warlocks summon their demons back as soon as they can.

So, when about half an hour had passed and I was still hopping there, on fire, at home, I really didn't know what the hells was happening.

Maybe Stitchface was putting up more of a fight that I thought? Maybe Spike was busy belching fel flames all over the room? Maybe that voidwalker had just broken another record and proven it knew a 36th word?

Maybe I'd forgotten to place the hollow handled butter spreader on the LEFT of the chafing dish when Miss Rarity visited?!?!?!?

...

...

Maybe the Master didn't need me anymore?

A cold little stone of fear lodged itself somewhere in my chest. A demon that was unneeded was a demon that wasn't recruiting for the Legion. A demon that wasn't recruiting for the Legion was a demon that didn't have the benefit of any kind of backup.

An easy mark for anyone who wanted anything.

Because, sure, Imps are amazing and immortal and fireproof and pretty much indestructible, but we're also small, and weak, and not much of threat on our own.

And, after seeing what the Master could do, I didn't like my odds if I wasn't HER demon anymore.

Because warlocks don't have many friends...

...but they don't normally have ANY enemies.

-~oOo~-