-Evil creatures sneer and scowl at holy things. The beauty of light and life displeases them.-

Horns blared and bells rang from atop Limure’s walls. On the ground, soldiers armed with spears and shields balked at the incoming wave of monsters.

It was alarming that they came from the south, but all the soldiers in this city had dealt with monsters before. They recovered quickly from their surprise. However, how were they supposed to fight these creatures when they used ropes to hang humans on their bodies as living shields?

In particular, the archers—who were supposed to pepper the invaders from atop the wall, reducing the numbers the ground soldiers would have to face—hesitated.

“There are people inside that we have to protect!” the captain on duty shouted. “Just shoot them!”

If it was already hard for the archers that didn’t have to see it up close, he feared how the ground soldiers would swing their weapons at captured humans. They had to get the numbers down as much as possible.

With expressions showing different levels of grief, the archers pulled their bowstrings to obey the order.

And then, a chain with links made out of fire sprung up from the ground and wrapped around one of the archers. The other end was in the hand of a large Minotaur who glared keenly, wearing “armor” made of several living children. The chain suddenly started to retract, and the archer was dragged off the wall, left to fall to his likely death.

A hail of arrows came, shy just one shot, and the monsters lifted their “shields” to receive it. Screams and groans of pain came from the peppered humans, and the monsters got by mostly unscathed.

“Reload!” a guard shouted as the monsters continued their approach.

More chains of fire pulled people off the wall, all originating from the Minotaur leading the march. Of course, in order to protect themselves, the archers focused their aim on him.

Another hail of arrows fell, much more concentrated this time.

Realizing his “armor” wouldn’t be enough to block everything, the Minotaur seized in each hand another monster, and forcefully positioned them in front of him. One was a hobgoblin who promptly died after being impaled by dozens of arrows. The other, luckily, was a troll, whose regeneration saved her.

The monsters were too close now. With one more push, they would reach the gate, and the archers wouldn’t be able to shoot them anymore.

Some of the human meat shields were still holding on, which caused visible distress in the ground soldiers, but Giyeridon no longer waited for them to get over it. He held his hands forward and a plume of dark yellow smog shot out. It engulfed the soldiers, who grasped their necks and started coughing and retching. Several directly passed out, while the others were easy pickings.

The wall had been breached.

#

The battle for Limure was destined to be a slog. Frankly, Astaroth’s forces didn’t have the numbers to take a whole city by force, which was why he had gone to the trouble of splitting up their forces. But the longer this dragged on, the more likely the soldiers would start to group up again. So, although Astaroth greatly enjoyed riding his palanquin through the open gates of an invaded city, he was on a time limit and couldn’t just leisurely go around watching.

“To the north,” he ordered the pallbearers, and they marched toward a stone manor standing tall amidst the surrounding buildings.

A palanquin being carried by four trolls couldn’t be more conspicuous, so they were attacked by every soldier they passed. Astaroth snapped his fingers and a red glow settled on his pallbearers. He didn’t allow them to attack, since their sole duty was to carry him smoothly, but between their regeneration and this spell, they could do some real damage.

Whenever someone struck one of the trolls, fire spread to their body and burned them, and the troll simply regenerated.

Some soldiers stupidly killed themselves trying to attack, while others clenched their teeth and left to deal with other monsters. A few followed, looking for a chance.

The manor only had a skeleton crew left defending it, what with the chaos all throughout the city. The trolls ignored the little damage they were dealt and got to their knees right before the entrance. Astaroth threw the black curtains of his palanquin aside and dramatically disembarked, peering up at the building. He appreciated the baroque-gothic architecture, though more attention could’ve been given to it. Maybe because this was a fort city, any artfulness in the design was subdued. Perhaps it had something to do with practicality, or maybe budget limitations.

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Either way, it would be his temporary residence soon.

The Devil threw open the doors like he already owned the place and raked his eyes over the gaggle of guards waiting to receive him. Thanks to the four flaming trolls kneeling behind him, the head guard quickly grasped the situation.

“Shoot to immobilize,” he ordered, and the guards aimed their crossbows.

An irritated smile twitched at the Devil’s lips, seeing such mundane weapons pointed at him, yet he was weak enough now that he couldn’t just ignore them.

When the bolts loosed, he had already calculated their trajectories, and he moved accordingly, evading all but one bolt with a simple twist of his body. The last one managed to graze his cheek. Astaroth sent a furious, glowing red glare at the guard who shot the winning bolt. Cold sweat poured down his back as visions of Hell invaded his mind. He saw horrors that didn’t make sense to his mortal mind and that he couldn’t put into words, and he screamed without realizing it. He failed to notice that his body was burning until it failed and died.

The guards next to the charred remains backed away a step in fear, and the rest were all busy loading their crossbows for a second volley.

“You really think I’d let you do it again?”

Vile yellow smog billowed out, forcing the guards to retch and shut their crying eyes. They were ill to the point that they couldn’t possibly shoot a crossbow, and Astaroth slit their throats with his claws one by one with very little resistance. Shaking off the blood, he continued deeper into the manor. There were only one or two other guards he met on the way, and he made short work of them.

Finally, the Devil Prince threw open a second set of double doors, revealing a spacious study. An older man was seated at a desk, with a guard standing to either side of him.

“Finally, someone who looks like they have some authority,” Astaroth smiled.

Without a word, the two guards standing beside the city lord stood between the invader and their boss, swords drawn.

Astaroth sighed while looking at them. “You have no role in this discussion,” he stated, forming a flame in each hand and lobbing it at the guards. The magic burst on contact, sending the guards hurtling back to the wall. Their charred bodies didn’t move to get up again.

The city lord couldn’t help but grimace, seeing the tragic state of his guards. Still, he set hawk-like eyes on the Devil and spoke with all the baseless bravado of a politician.

“Who are you?”

“I’m the one trying to conquer this city,” he said. “And who are you?”

“I am Matthew Aldermane, the acting Lord of Limure.”

Astaroth smiled. A golden-red glow overtook his eyes as a mystical scroll of similar color came to being in the air between them. The radiant parchment was covered in blood-red scrawl in a language Count Aldermane had never seen before.

“Place your signature at the bottom,” Astaroth told him. “The fighting will stop and you will live.”

“What… what is this?” The count glared warily at the magical parchment hovering in front of him.

“It’s a contract,” the Devil told him. “It promises what I offered you just now.”

The count clenched his hands tightly together atop his desk. “And what price would I pay?”

The Devil smiled. “Do you think it could be worse than the fate of your guards? You’ll be my subordinate. Simple, isn’t it?” Red light swam in the Devil’s eyes, behind the gold. “If you don’t sign, not only you, but most of the soldiers protecting this city will die painfully.”

“Why do you want me as your subordinate?”

Astaroth would give the mortal this, he was shrewd. Not that that would be enough.

“I’m taking over this city. Who better to help me run it than the former lord? But you are a convenience to me, not a necessity. I can always torture you to death and see if you have a change of heart before the end.”

Lord Aldermane hesitated and then reached for his quill. Aside from a very slight shaking of his fingers, there was no sign that he was afraid for his life. The nib inched closer and closer to the infernal contract, and the air buzzed with invisible tension.

“I apologize, my lord, but I cannot allow that.”

The corner of Astaroth’s eye twitched, and he glared over his shoulder. “If you had known your place and watched quietly, I was willing to ignore you.”

A hint of anxiety settled in the pit of the Devil’s stomach. He had heard someone approaching from the hallway, but looking at him now, he was a beautiful older man, wearing pure white robes and holding a cluster of gold beads in his hand.

Dammit.

The priest smiled calmly, ignoring Astaroth’s words and speaking directly to the city lord. “This creature is a Devil, my lord. It may take possession of your soul if you sign its contract.”

The city lord smiled wryly. “Unless you do something, Bishop L’oral, I won’t have any choice but to sign.”

The contract ceased its suspension, fluttering down to rest on the lord’s desk. The gold glow faded from Astaroth’s eyes, and he turned to face Bishop L’oral.

“This delay is costing more lives at this very moment. I hope that rests well on your conscience, Bishop?”

The holy man smiled and shook his head. “In the long run, letting you do as you please will cost far more lives, will it not?”

Astaroth sighed. He placed one hand on his hip and gestured provocatively with the other. “You’ve spoiled my mood, so at least you’d better entertain me well, mortal.”