This is the seventh chapter of Diabolical Ascension, the saga of Zeraga Baal'khal, the Doomfire. Discretion is advised due to graphic content.
The sixth chapter, The Blackguard's Altar, can be found here:
The first chapter, Awakening, can be found here: https://talesofvalorandwoe.wixsite.com/zeragabaalkhal/post/diabolical-ascension-i-awakening
Image credits (in order of appearance): Petr Joura
The cavern stretched for miles, further than Zeraga and his companions could see. Straight ahead loomed a large stone wall from behind which rose more cyclopean structures with roofs both flat and angular, all connected by stone bridges. Many faint, orange glows, like embers of a dying fire, could be seen about the place, too.
“We have arrived,” X’kharr said.
“That is Arkynathos,” X’ghorr added.
Zeraga nodded. Whether the journey had taken a few hours or a few cycles, he did not know, and the Doomfire could not bring himself to feel gratitude about how his demonic servants had followed through on their word. Of course they had. They knew that their lives would have been forfeit otherwise. But, the journey had not been without its hazards. More demons and more ghouls had assailed Zeraga and his companions, and flowing lava and sudden collapses had made navigating the underworld of Addaduros more treacherous still. Now, the Doomfire was sure that he and his companions were under the mountain rather than merely inside it.
As Zeraga, Zamyyr, and the two demons came closer to the settlement, they were able to make out the front gate. A towering stone figure, dwarfing even X’kharr and X’ghorr, stood on either side. They had been fashioned to resemble armored warriors, and embedded in their heads, shoulders, and chests were large, orange gems that pulsed softly. Their hands gripped stout stone glaives that were taller than they were.
The statues rumbled as they became animate; they brandished their glaives and marched toward the newcomers. The gems upon their bodies glowed brighter, fierier. “No invaders shall come into Arkynathos!” they thundered. Rays of red lightning screamed from their eyes, straight toward Zeraga and his companions.
The party scattered, and clouds of rock and dust flew up in their wake as lightning slammed into the ground where the devils and demons had been. The seething report of more crimson lightning followed as Zamyyr fired bolts of it from his Axxcrudyr, the runes upon the thick blades throbbing with eldritch wrath. As Zamyyr’s lightning struck the right-most golem, a shimmering, iridescent field appeared over it, a second skin of pure sorcery that protected it from harm. Zamyyr was already hurtling toward that same golem, coronas of hellfire bursting into existence about his baleful blades.
Zeraga charged the left-most golem; X’kharr and X’ghorr were right at the Doomfire’s side, their hammers raised high. Torrents of crimson lightning were sprayed at Zeraga and his demons with every stride. Zeraga exerted his will on Suffering and Affliction, and a new cacophony shredded the air as the gem-encrusted axe and truncheon wreathed themselves in kaleidoscopic flames, rays of it streaking forth to destroy the crimson lightning. Zeraga, X’kharr, and X’ghorr closed the distance to their foe and brought their weapons to bear.
The golem’s glaive became a whirlwind as it blocked and parried, coming away with smoldering notches from where it collided with Zeraga’s axe and truncheon. The golem strode backward as it continued its defense, and torrents of lightning howled from its gems, striking Zeraga, X’kharr, and X’ghorr and throwing them to the ground.
Zamyyr was still on his feet, furiously exchanging blows with the other golem, and though neither combatant could gain an advantage, the devil felt liberated; his choler about Zeraga’s decisions finally had a place to go. The hellfire and crimson lightning about his Axxcrudyr had intensified with his fury, blocking the sorcerous onslaughts of the golem as they came.
“Is that the best you can do?” the Crimson Dragon snarled, his words brimming with savage joy. “I’ve fought mortals with more tenacity.”
If I didn’t know better, Hellscythe said to Zeraga, I would say that your servant is fighting harder than you are.
The Doomfire did not dignify the barb with a response, instead tearing vigor from Hellscythe; it had much to give after being glutted during the recent battles. Zeraga was back on his feet a moment later, swinging Hellscythe, Suffering, and Affliction at the guardian of Arkynathos as he conjured a hellfire sword. X’kharr and X’ghorr had risen as well; they swung their hammers at the golem’s legs.
The golem parried Zeraga’s axe with its glaive, the two weapons clashing for but a moment before the glaive was in motion again, blocking Zeraga’s truncheon. As that happened, another sorcerous skin formed upon the golem and blunted the impacts of the other blows. Zeraga swung his hellfire sword next; it sliced through the ward upon the golem to bite into the stone underneath, leaving a blackened patch from which rose tendrils of acrid smoke.
As the golem drove its glaive toward Zeraga, X’kharr and X’ghorr each outstretched a hand and unleashed a torrent of chaos-fame that ravaged the stone weapon, dark gray droplets falling from it as it started to liquify. Zeraga blocked the golem’s glaive with Affliction. More prismatic flames poured from the truncheon as the two weapons collided, turning the head of the glaive white hot and warping it into a knobby mass that looked like a poorly sculpted attempt at a balled-up fist.
The golem cleaved, leading with the haft of its weapon, and a carpet of crimson lightning erupted from its gems. Zeraga and his demons darted out of the way of the sweeping blow but could not avoid the lightning; all three fiends growled in pain as the tide of red raked across them. Howling, the Doomfire spread his wings and leaped at his foe; his vision was rimmed in an ever-encroaching ring of crimson. He closed the distance and swung Suffering. The chaos-axe sliced into the gem upon the golem’s chest, leaving a web of fractures, and an unearthly shriek followed as a spectral humanoid sped out. Another, more agonizing, shriek came as the specter was transmuted into sanguine mist, flowing into Hellscythe.
Delicious… the weapon hissed.
Zeraga swung next with Affliction. The truncheon slammed into the golem’s side as the chaos-flame about the weapon ravaged the stone. X’kharr and X’ghorr struck with their hammers next, their thunderous blows leaving long, jagged cracks on the golem as it was sent staggering back. The golem recovered and swung its glaive-turned-staff at Zeraga; the Doomfire whirled out of the way as he conjured a hellfire shield, hot knives coursing through his veins as the flames manifested. X’kharr and X’ghorr struck again, unleashing more kaleidoscopic flames as their hammers slammed into the golem’s thighs. The construct crashed to the ground, its limbs flailing as it fought to delay the inevitable. Again and again, Zeraga and his demons struck, and more unearthly screeches rent the air as each shattered gem released a soul that Hellscythe consumed.
Their task complete, Zeraga and his demons turned on the other golem. It was still locked in a furious duel with Zamyyr, a wall of sound formed from thunderous crashes and shrieking lightning surrounding them as they traded blows and sorcery. Drawing upon more vigor from Hellscythe, Zeraga charged, firing chaos-flame bolts from his axe and truncheon with each ground-eating stride. X’kharr and X’ghorr were right beside the Doomfire, adding to his fiery assault.
Bright white light scintillated across the golem as its sorcerous wards repulsed some of the chaos-flame, but those bolts that broke through left blackened patches and cracked stone in their wake. The golem yielded one stride of ground, then another as it continued to fend off blow after mighty blow of Zamyyr’s howling blades. Zeraga and his demons closed the distance to the golem a moment later; a din of shrieking and seething and crushing and crashing followed as the construct fell. Hellscythe viciously devoured the souls within the gems.
Arkynathos’s gates had already opened; warriors were charging out, the clattering of their armor and weapons forming a rolling thunder. All of them bore the segmented spider legs sprouting from their back and shoulders that characterized the glayruk species, but not all of them were true glayruks; some were hulking and brutish like orcs and ogres while others were more minotaur-like.
“Do not attack them,” Zeraga said to his companions. “At least, not yet.”
Zamyyr, X’kharr, and X’ghorr assumed defensive stances and waited. Zeraga leisurely strode toward the charging horde.
“Stop now, and there will be no fighting,” the Doomfire called, “I have no desire to slay you. I instead wish to parley.”
The warriors slowed to a halt, leaving a considerable distance between themselves and Zeraga. A glayruk emerged from among them. He had a stalwart bearing, his body appearing as though it had been chiseled from dark brown stone. He wore lustrous black chainmail; his axe was made from the same black metal.
“Already, you have committed a crime against us by destroying our nemihr; our ancestors are forever lost to us now,” the glayruk called back. “Why should we grant your request to parley?”
Zeraga grinned savagely as he resisted the pull of the crimson pall. It would be so easy, too easy, to butcher these mortals and be done with them. “It is regrettable that your nemihr were destroyed, but they attacked me and my companions first, unwilling to hear my request. As I said, I wish to parley. I am Zeraga Baal’khal, the Doomfire, and I fight against the forces of chaos that infest these mountains.”
“Is that why you wield chaos-flame and traffic with demons?”
“Chaos is best fought with chaos. Besides, my demons will not attack unless I tell them to.” Zeraga dismissed his hellfire sword with a flourish and outstretched his now-empty hand. “Parley with me, and it need not come to that.”
“Very well,” the glayruk replied reluctantly, “What brings you to Arkynathos?”
“I was searching for any sign that these mountains had not been entirely claimed by chaos. I am glad to see my hopes confirmed. Are there any of the Swords of Addaduros among your number?”
“No.” The glayruk shook his head. “They have been dead for more than a thousand years; they were slain by the demons.”
“Arkynathos has been here for that long?”
“Indeed.”
“Where are all of the demons coming from? Why is the boundary between the Thirteen Hells and Ag’graaza so thin here?”
“We know only that the source of it all comes from deeper down.”
“What if I were to investigate it?”
The glayruk fell silent as he pondered the notion. Finally, he said, “That would be a question for our leader. Remain out here; I will go confer with him. If any of my kinsmen are wounded, our parley is forfeit.”
“Very well.” Zeraga nodded.
* * *
“Are you sure it is really the Doomfire who is at our gates?” Skûn asked.
He was a giant of a glayruk, muscular and rigid, made all the more imposing by the monolithic stone throne upon which he sat, the Throne of Arkynathos. His armor rasped softly as he adjusted his posture. Only a few moments prior, Skûn had been consulting with his court wizard, Sarbronus, a gaunt, taciturn man known for becoming absorbed in his runes and talismans. That had come to an abrupt end with the rushing entrance of the glayruk who stood before him now, a warrior wearing adamantine chainmail and bearing an adamantine axe who called himself Aezaav.
“Yes, Lord Skûn,” Aezaav said, “it can be no other.” The glayruk described what had taken place at the gates of Arkynathos.
Skûn’s eyes did not stray from his underling’s face as he listened assiduously. To say that the Lord of Arkynathos was skeptical was an understatement; no devil had found the city since the fall of the Swords of Addaduros more than a thousand years ago. That, of course, had been by design. Not even Azazel, Lord of the Fifth Hell, knew that Arkynathos existed. Skûn wanted to keep it that way.
Aezaav finished speaking, and Skûn allowed silence to fill the throne room. There was no doubt that the devil of which Aezaav had spoken was indeed Zeraga Baal’khal, the Doomfire: he had six arms, wore copper armor with green trim, and wielded the legendary Hellscythe. And he was not alone, either; he had another devil and two demons with him. How had he gotten such opposing beings to cooperate with each other? More questions formed in Skûn’s mind, but the most pressing one was of how to make the best use of the opportunity he had been presented with.
“And Zeraga really did offer to seek out the root of the chaos infestation?” the Lord of Arkynathos asked airily, skeptically.
“Yes, my lord,” Aezaav replied.
“Very well. We shall take him at his word. Here is what you shall do…
* * *
With all due respect, master, Zamyyr said, are you sure that we are not being held here until more reinforcements arrive?
No. Zeraga replied. They have already witnessed what we did to their ancestor constructs, and they do not want to lose more of them.
Not that I would be opposed to that. Hellscythe said. If the mortals wish to sell their souls cheaply, then we should oblige them. We probably could have taken their city ourselves by now.
Yes, but the resulting rubble would be useless to us as a base, and slaying all of the mortals would deprive us of a ready-made army. Zeraga said. Let us wait and see what happens. If the mortals wish to offer battle, we shall indeed oblige them, but I believe that the Lord of Arkynathos is more discerning than that.
A moment later, the glayruk with whom Zeraga had been parleying re-emerged from the gates, and the throng of warriors parted to make way for him. He was not alone. At his right side was another, larger glayruk whose tusks spoke of his ogre heritage. The barbarian wore many dark hides and gripped a large battle-blade of bright orange metal that smoldered like fire itself. Following behind them were two skeletal, horse-like kuurzanaals, shadows of fire and death.
Familiarity dawned upon Zeraga as he looked upon the diabolical steeds. They were Drahligar and Churvômbhel; they had once served the Crimson Dragons. What were they doing down here? Zeraga pushed aside his curiosity and turned to the returning glayruk.
“What is your lord’s verdict?” the devil asked.
“The Lord of Arkynathos is grateful for your offer,” the glayruk replied, “and he accepts. You are to be sent with Maalik—” The glayruk gestured to the barbarian with the fiery sword. “—and these two kuurzanaals. However, my lord also asks that your companions remain in his keeping until you and Maalik return.”
Zeraga did not immediately respond. On the surface, it was a fair trade: his three companions for the three provided by the Lord of Arkynathos. Zeraga could not fault the Lord of Arkynathos for wanting collateral, either, but the devil did not like the idea of X’kharr and X’ghorr being out of his sight for so long. If the demons opted for betrayal, Zeraga was not sure that Zamyyr, for all his loyalty and might, would be able to stop them.
Know that I will abide by whatever decision you make, master, Zamyyr said, but know also that I have no desire to leave you.
Yes, Zeraga replied, but I think that it will be necessary. The presence of chaos must be destroyed if we are to get to the River Styx unnoticed by the Fangs of Azazel, and do you not recognize the kuurzanaals? They are Drahligar and Churvômbhel.
That cannot be; they perished during the final crusade to Ag’graaza along with the rest of the legion.
Apparently not, for they stand before us now. Aloud, Zeraga said, “I accept your lord’s terms. Zamyyr, X’kharr, X’ghorr, go with the warriors of Arkynathos and see to it that no harm comes to them. I will return as soon as I am able.”
As you wish, master. Zamyyr said as he obeyed. I wish you a safe journey.
“It shall be as you say, Lord Zeraga,” X’kharr said as he, too, obeyed the command. X’ghorr was right behind him.
As the devil and the two demons went with the warriors of Arkynathos, all of them entering the city, Maalik and the kuurzanaals approached Zeraga.
“Well met,” the barbarian said gruffly. “Let us hope that you live up to the legends.”
Zeraga grinned. “Those are tall words for a mortal.”
“I have slain hundreds of demons in my lifetime; I am the one who has come closest to finding the root of the threat. I will see this finished even if it kills me.”
Such bravado! Hellscythe said mockingly, but only to Zeraga.
Zeraga ignored the comment. “Since you are so eager to depart, we should start moving.”
Maalik nodded. “You may ride whichever kuurzanaal you prefer.”
Zeraga turned his gaze toward the black, deathly steeds with eyes, manes, hooves, and tails of fire. He was met with telepathic recognition.
What a pleasant surprise this is. Drahligar said.
Yes, Churvômbhel agreed, we were not sure that we would ever see you again, Lord Zeraga. It is a shame, however, that Praetorian Zamyyr will not be coming with us.
Indeed, but the choice was out of my hands. Zeraga walked up and mounted Churvômbhel. It was a singular, smooth motion, something his muscles had done thousands of times before. I am sure that we will have much to catch up on once this is all over.
Of course he picks you. Drahligar said indignantly. He always picks you.
Oh come on now, Churvômbhel chuckled, we both pulled his chariot. Remember those days?
A fragment of a memory darted across Zeraga’s mind. He was in a blasted landscape not unlike the wastes of Addaduros above, and he drove a stalwart iron chariot, bristling with spikes and replete with glowing red runes. A thick iron yoke and chains bound Drahligar and Churvômbhel to the infernal vehicle; the pounding of their hooves sent it hurtling toward a horde of demons ahead.
Maalik mounted Drahligar and spurred the dark horse into a gallop; Churvômbhel was right behind. Already, Arkynathos was growing smaller and smaller, and Hellscythe had to keep itself from crying out with joy. Zeraga was on a direct course to Ôx’xâ; the Horned Helmet would soon be his, and with it, he would belong to the crimson pall, forevermore…
The End
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Next Chapter: Into the Mountain of Ik'kthatch
Find links to my published works here: https://talesofvalorandwoe.wixsite.com/zeragabaalkhal/post/the-other-scrawlings-of-isaiah-burt
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