Gregori looked around. The carnage was extensive. Hard blows hit the battlements, injuring many and killing some. Many more would die. That was something he knew was a certainty. But if he could delay their ascent to the afterlife, at least for a moment. Then it would have been a good life lived.

Rising from the crate, he shook off the dust from his weary bones. Amulet in hand, he made ready his power to be used to attack and defend. Saddling up to the battlements, he inspected the enemy. They were making ready for another attack. The scorched battering ram was no major loss. It was now time for a major assault.

Ladders were being prepped, and enemy soldiers were making ready. He could see them lining up and lifting the massive metal constructions. The ladders were tall and no doubt they would reach. They had hooks on the end, likely to grip or impale anyone that tried to stop them.

The attack soon arrived, ferocious and wild. The enemy threw themselves at the wall. Ladders ascended, latching on the walls, ferrying beasts to the realm of men. Archers loosed arrows; others returned fire. The bloodshed was horrific as the enemy decided on a brutal wave tactic.

Gregori unleashed a gout of fire, burning several ascenders. His efforts kept the amount of enemies that reached the top to a minimum. But with every expenditure of his amulet, he felt the weakening of his spirit.

“Hold the line!” The fortress commander ordered.

His soldiers pressed forward, shields pressing against the never ending tide. They held the wall as well as they could. But the casualties slowly rose, with each assault repelled. At least one man died.

The garrison was not used to this level of warfare. They had not experienced the struggle against a truly overwhelming force.

“Steady men, keep a tight formation.” The commander again ordered.

Just as the men found courage to endure, a wet sound, followed by a thud, echoed. The men turned to glance back at the now silent commander. What they found was a headless corpse. The declared face staring back at them, while a strange shimmer moved away.

Right there and then, the moral the men had accumulated abruptly dropped. Some fought on and died, while others fled through the access door, deeper into the keep. The battlement was quickly overwhelmed and taken.

Gregori, realising the futility of the defence, defended the doorway as soldiers flooded in. After the remaining garrison soldiers entered, he faced the approaching beast-kin.

The Lankosians covered the army in blood. Lankosians did not have a reputation for clean killings. Some say it was their savage nature coming to the forefront. Others said it was a fear tactic, to strike terror in the survivors. Gregori knew it was both a channelling of savagery towards a strategic end. He saw glimpses of it amongst the mercenaries that once held his chains. Now a great army of Lankos made it manifest.

Quickly, he ferried the men down the narrow path. He did not count how many had survived and didn’t want to. The enemy had taken the battlements; they swarmed over like locust. Raising the amulet, he burned anyone foolish enough to approach. They got the message and gave the priest a wide berth.

“Do you really think you can stop us all, shaman?” A wolf-kin draped in chain mail and wielding an axe spoke sinisterly.

Referring to a priest of the flame as a mere shaman was a slight to most of the faith. To Gregori, he knew it was just their term for them. The Lankosians had no formal religions nor any concept of a priest. They had shamans that bound spirits and warlocks that served demons.

“I cannot. I am merely a man. However, your death is certain. For you march on the holy land, protected by the sacred flame.” The priest replied, presenting his amulet.

In truth, he was buying time. He had exhausted much of his strength and needed time. The wolf-kin chuckled before swaying back and forth as if searching for something. He grinned before palming his axe, slick with blood.

“I don’t see your precious flame here to defend you.”

“The sacred flame is within us all. You will see it when it is time. It is unlikely you will enjoy it.” Gregori retorted, smiling back.

The wolf-kin chuffed a puff of air, clearly fed up with this discourse. He then ordered his men to attack, they did so with minor reluctance. Descending upon the lonely priest, instead of heroism, he shut the door and slid the bolt. What proceeded was a lot of banging and shouting. With his amulet raised, he looked back at several soldiers descending the stairs and called out to them.

“Do we have any artisans of earth?” He queried frantically, his eyes never leaving the door.

Several men approached. In the most limited sense: They qualified as soldiers. They wore armour, but lacked the formal attire of the Tarkonian military. The garrison employed artisans. They were also devotees to the spirit of earth, Terranuk.

“Can you collapse this hallway?” He asked.

“We can try, holy one.” One of them answered.

“Then do so.”

They immediately went to work, withdrawing hammers. While the temple of Pyrus distributed amulets to its priests. The artisans of Terranuk got blessed hammers or tools. With these artefacts, they could shape and control the earth elements. With a strike upon metal, the material will yield. Here, the artisans thrust their hammers forth.

The hallway rumbled with each impact upon the floor or walls. It took five hits before the walls and roof cracked and fell. Burying the door under rubble and preventing access. With their work done, Gregori lead the surviving men through the interior. Many civilians joined along the way as they gathered provisions and resources.

They headed towards the back entrance to the plains and hoped to the spirits they would be in time. Having unbarred the door, the group went outside. They exited to an open area of grassland; a short pathway led to the wide plains. Although not secret, the entrance was hidden from casual observation.

The group made no bother with ceremony and fled as fast as they could. To reach the nearest fortification, one could walk several hours to the nearest outpost, which offered access to horses. Fewer than one hundred people, many wounded, comprised the group.

Gregori lead them out and sent them to flee as fast as they could. There was pleading from the most faithful for himself to flee as well. The priest accepted their desires as earnest and affectionate, but still told them to flee.

“Holy one, you must flee as well. We will carry you if need be.” One soldier pleaded.

“No, my son, I would only slow you down. I will remain and hold off the enemy.” Gregori stated firmly, his resolve shining through.

The soldiers that remained with him were all the faith. Each of them possessing their own minor blessings. They had attended to him for many years. They were his flock, akin to the children he wishes he had. So much he sacrificed in his pursuit of his faith. He did all this to ensure a peaceful land for others to flourish upon.

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“I wish I had the time to tell you everything I want to say. But know this, I am very proud of you all.” He said, as heartfelt as his failing heart could be.

He didn’t want to tell them this, that he was nearing the end of his mortal life. Even with the blessings of Pyrus, his life was nearing its end. What followed was much internal conflict, pleading and tears. But in the end, they fled with the group, promising to defend them. The priest watched them leave and sighed with a small smile.

“Is this my time I wonder?” He mused, casting his gaze to the heavens.

Standing his ground, he watched as beast-kin poured out of the fortress exit. He wondered how they broke through the collapsed stairwell. But that didn’t seem like a priority now.

Grabbing hold of his amulet, empowering his feeble arms with strength and snapping the chain around his neck. Now free from its leash, he raised it up to the heavens. Cupping the object of his faith with both hands as if presenting it to his patron.

The amulet glowed a dull red before the priest drew it down and presented it to the oncoming storm. The beasts didn’t relent. Assured of their victory, they charged the lone priest.

"I am a servant of the holy fire, wielder of the flame of Pyrus. Your faithless ways will not protect you from his judgement." The priest declared with every fibre of his faith.

The feeling of his patron was profound as the flames of judgement enveloped him. The power was overwhelming and sublime. This calling of favour was the most dangerous of acts. To take in the patron and allow them to work their will amongst fragile flesh.

His eyes blazed the fury of the spirits, and with a gesture, flames rose from the ground. The advancing enemy halted in their tracks, but an eagre few found themselves destroyed by the flames of judgement. The priest would weep over such senseless death, yet the power rendered all ethical concerns mute.

“You will advance no further!” He commanded as if they would obey.

Amulet in hand, the fires blazed, holding back the tide of beasts. Some tried to circumvent, manoeuvring around the blaze and aiming their bows. Arrows loosed and another flame wall intercepted them. The priest was spending power wholesale. His body, although intact on the surface, was burning from within.

He sent blasts of inferno, setting the land ablaze and any who dare come close. The Lankosians fell back, ceasing their advance in favour of life. The priest stood vigil, a burning vanguard to the realms of men.

Soon after, a group of well-equipped archers arrived, mocked strange glass arrows. Taking aim, they loosed the flying weapons of death. Instead of vaporizing upon contact with the flame wall. They passed through undamaged, piercing the defensive magic and reaching the intended target.

The arrows hit their target dead centre, three of them slammed into his chest with dull thuds. With the power coursing through him, only barely registered the attack. Staggering, he nearly fell to his knees. His elderly legs buckled, but they did not bend.

Instead, he drew more power into his body. His blood started to boil and skin melted. He ignored the pain, instead sending blasts of heat to annihilate everything everything in his path. Many beast-kin died that day, burned to a crisp. Only for it all to end with the final arrow, felling him.

Someone loosed another arrow, piercing his heart, already damaged beyond repair. No longer able to stand, the aged priest, Gregori the slave, old fire breath, fell to his knees and left this world.

With the battle over and the fortress secure. The Lankosians cheered their victory over the humans and the first successful battle in a much larger campaign. The individual legion commanders extolled to the men their skill at arms and their bravery.

While they celebrated, General Grey-Tusk stood in the fortress chapel, his gaze transfixed upon the mural that decorated the wall. It depicted a fiery humanoid, arms outstretched, distributing tiny fires to the kneeling masses.

Examining the decor intently, he barely noticed the hooded figure strolling up beside him. The being that arrived was certainly not a beast-kin, not a native of Lankos. The shape was, of course, humanoid, but that was where the similarities ended.

Beneath the cowl lay a reptilian form, akin to an upright lizard. The differences lay in the horn-like extensions from the left and right side of its head. The slitted eyes cast a curious glare upon its environment. Back and forth behind it,: The scaled tail wiped.

“What do you make of this?” The General inquired.

“Beautiful reverence to a false idol. It pleads to be profaned.” The reptilian being replied.

The General didn’t react, beyond tilting his head in thought. He knew whom this being was and why he was here. He had orders to ensure every courtesy was given.

“So, demons seek to corrupt places of worship.”

“True enough, but that is just my opinion. Such acts are far behind us, considered uncivilised and poor diplomacy.” The demon explained.

The General was thoughtful. He had learned much during his more studious days. Demon culture from the far east was a minor subject of study.

“I can see how many cultures would view that as religious intolerance.”

“Perhaps it is. Demon society was once such a simplistic and primitive way to live. But as we spread across the mortal realms, we have become more than what we were.” Tilting its head, the demon has a toothy grin.

“Well, I hope you won’t have an issue with my intention of preserving this monument to a worthy adversary.” He stated in less of a suggestion, but a statement of fact.

“A worthy adversary?” The demon probed.

“The priest that slew dozens of my men with fires brought up from the internal realms themselves.”

“That piddling excuse for fire is a lesser breed. I am offended by the insinuation mortals could command such things without us.” The demon cursed oddly with a smile.

"It is what the men say. Still, he fought well and died in glory. His people will grant him death honours, according to their customs."

“How respectful Va-General.” The demon stated, using the old Demonusian suffix to denote a war leader of another race.

“Indeed, I have heard from the captives that burning on a pyre seems appropriate.”

The two agree and turn to face each other. Regarding one another, the boar-kin and demon appear to assess some unknown criteria.

“I have been told the Federation is offering logistical aid. Some new communications system, is that correct?” He inquired.

“You are correct, the Federation council is eagre to see this war resolved. In the spirit of this understanding, they have sent myself to act as chief communications officer for the duration of the campaign.”

"I am quite interested in learning the specifics of this method. The member states widely reject Demonusian techniques."

“It is true our ways are difficult for most mortals to accept; I think it's all the blood sacrifices. Why mortals would be so squeamish is beyond me. They kill, carve up and eat animals regularly. Throwing away all that useful blood, so very wasteful.” The demon borderline ranted, shaking his head futile.

“Anyway, you were about to explain the process?” The General chimed in, pulling the conversation back.

“Ah yes, Va-General, the process. The technique is relatively simple. I have quite several imps in my service. They are all currently in the infernal realm, awaiting to be summoned. These imps will ferry messages between your officers through myself as the central operator.”

“How will they accomplish this?” The General asked.

“Through the use of demonic summoning. We have streamlined the process. It requires very little blood, preferably virgin and far more simplified ritual.” Following his explanation, he withdrew a small booklet, handing it over.

Opening the book, reading the contents, he noted each page contained an arcane diagram of summoning, along with a simple step-by-step process to summon and dismiss the demon. Flicking through the pages, he noted each had a slightly different diagram. The pages also had a numbered code above them, denoting different demonic recipients.

“If I am reading this correctly, this is an instruction manual to summon and dismiss a variety of lesser demons?”

“Exactly. We will assign each demon to a communications officer. With regular check-ins and some cases of emergency. The divisions will summon their assigned demon, hand them reports and dismiss them. Once dismissed, myself will summon them, with the communique intact.”

“I can definitely see the benefit of this, compared to the typical methods. But I have one question before we start.” The General asked.

The demon nodded for him to continue.

“Why virgin blood?” He asked, genuinely perplexed.

“That is quite a hotly debated topic. I can explain the theory, or I can dig through some of my old textbooks.”

“Brief explanation, please.”

“As you wish Va-General. Several theories explain why, in the old days, most of demondom believed it was related to purity. Later scholars suggested it had no real significance and was largely a cultural motivation. To defile the pure and pious, back when they conflicted with certain... Religions. The most widespread theory, however, is the concept that intercourse is a metaphysical act of surrender to another being. The absence of virgin blood in this surrender makes it more valuable. People still debate whether it affects the efficiency of spells. Regardless, it is still a standard.” Finishing his long winded but supposedly short explanation, the demon awaited a response.

“Interesting.” The General stated simply, while his internal thoughts were vastly different.