“So you wish to fight for ideology?” Ildrid said, “an ideological Undead who seeks to be moral.”

“Are we less moral than your average Demon or Human?” Maras retorted defensively.

Ildrid chuckled, and stared in a skeletal stare, perhaps if he had eyebrows he would twitch them, if he had pupils they would dilate, he nonetheless shook his head. Ildrid produced a shield and thudded it into the ground.

“So what you’re saying is, now it truly begins?”

“Now it truly begins.”

The two Necromancers stepped out of a portal into the bowls of the Cahovian realm. Red, fiery hell with the occasional dark rock to add to the atmosphere.

“The red glow really gives it the atmospheric look.”

Maras stared at the Demon realm. Illogical rage filled him. I already killed those who killed my parents.

“Just what I’d expect from the Cahov,” Maras whispered.

“What?”

“Nothing, Ildrid, we are better than them remember, don’t kill the innocents.”

I am not like them. I will never become like my enemies.

Ildrid nodded, not very enthusiastically, but he nodded. He glanced and looked around the hellish red landscape. They marched into a village, where terrified Demon villagers gave them information. Ildrid kept a portal open and used skeletons to carry green crystals.

“Who are you? Lord?”

“I am Lord Maras.”

“Are you from Dina? Is Dina invading now?” The Demon imp asked impertinently, immediately creating panicked faces.

“I am my own faction of Undead,” Maras explained, “I am Maras, this is Ildrid. We have come to make a true treaty of peace.”

So you are invading? The imp thought. It’s little face scrunched up trying to glean what Maras was really about.

“Some Warlock came and freed all the Goblins, there’s a general marching on our capital. We can’t possibly make war on your world.”

“Treaties are usually just written pieces of paper or verbal agreements, they’re usually nothing more than a glorified promise,” Ildrid agreed with the Demon townsfolk.

“Ildrid,” Maras said, “even if it is a mere promise, I want them to make it. I want Demons to understand they made a promise.”

“A promise under duress?” A courageous Demon said, “is hardly a promise, it’s more of a threat.”

“We want them to not invade our world,” Maras whispered, “that will be our legacy.”

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And you do this by invading our world? The imp thought, snarling furiously.

They left the village, taking a nearby fort, looking over the lava and charred landscape. Ildrid stood on top of the tower, his skeletons standing guard over captured Demon grunts.

“No wonder they wanted to invade our world,” Ildrid mused.

“It has its own beauty,” Maras muttered.

“What the fuck is going on?” Ildrid said, pointing with an axe with much worry.

Ildrid noticed the landscape of battle, some mere after effects of battle and war; and other very present fighting.

“Chaos…” a Devil peasant said, “Lord Agelas a Devil is probably going to take over. Those Devils are extreme.”

“Are they not like Demi gods to you?” Ildrid asked candidly.

“They’ve been a sort of uninvolved elite,” the Demon explained, “Demons are less powerful, but our monarch was always a Demon, we had and have Demon elites as well. But if the Devil’s rule. I have no idea what’s going to happen.”

“Aren’t there are at least less of them?” Maras asked.

“Well yeah, I guess there are, but they’re powerful, they can revive each other, and Demons of course.”

The villagers were thankful to not be turned into Undead, but it was not with elation that they waved to the Undead. Maras did not need supplies, crystals were only to placate local Demon villagers, it was not necessary for his troops. He surrounded a fortress, which promptly fired at him, his Spectres swooped in, threw the garrison off the battlements, and the rest promptly surrendered; not before literally soiling themselves.

“Any news?” Maras asked the two guards.

“News?”

The red ambient air, the lava, bubbled behind the fortress’s guards, the Demon world was terrifying, and yet Maras was the one who terrified the Demons, they shrugged in fear and confusion. Turning to one another in attempts to glean information of what to say.

“I don’t think so?” One said hesitantly.

“Sir, the Demon Lord has…” the messenger said a bit aghast at the Undead.

The messenger came out of the bowels of the fort. Staring at the shrouded Spectre and his army of ethereal beings. The Demon audibly gulped, staring at Maras who stared at him with full intention of hearing the report.

“What did the Demon Lord do?” Maras asked carefully, quietly and calmly.

“Die, he died.” The Demon corrected, hiccuping in fear.

Cold sweat fell off his brow, the skeletal figure stared at the Demon who was all sweaty and shrugged, the cold unrelenting stare of Maras unnerved the Demon who awaited a reply.

“So this Agelas is running the show now?”

“Yes,” the Demon said shaking his head and terrified out of his mind.

Maras stared off into the distance. Looking down at the Demon.

“I see,” Maras simply said.

Agelas a Devil had killed the previous royal family. The Cahrin clan’s heirs had apparently been involved in several palace coups, the reigning dynasty was now completely rooted out. Agelas was surrounded by Devil bodyguards, ministers and generals.

“We must reinvigorate the Cahov Empire, we must crush the Goblins. I don’t know if it’s even worth enslaving them, perhaps we need rid of them,” Agelas said to his advisor.

“That is an extreme decision, the mining in Goblina is dependent on them,” the advisor explained, his hand shaking, his voice quivering.

The advisor stared at the fierce Agelas, his sharp features, his musculature were all impressive, sharp arms, and sharp fingers, and perhaps an even sharper stare.

“Can’t imps do the mining instead? Aren’t most of those peasants a resource we can use?”

A resource? Peasants? This is a Devil talking but even so, what a thing to say. Regular Demons are mere ants, and Imps are ‘a resource,’ a foul beast to be sure.

The minister was a Demon, minister to the previous Emperor, finance minister, Lord Cathlor, he had lands in the north, growing Demon wheat he managed to still get a budget surplus for Cahov even despite the lavishness of the royal family. Lord Cathlor was a thin Demon with no beard and a kempt uniform. Uther sat in the corner, growling silently.

A Devil beat me to it. I was too slow. Too weak, well I still have time, but how the hell can I kill a Devil. Those things are naturally stronger. I can’t arouse suspicion.