Five demon generals sat and waited. This is no common thing.

Around the heavy stainwood table, each occupied a chair flanked by servants. Each was a being of terrible authority and power. None were accustomed to waiting.

Clawed fingers drummed. One of them sighed. Another worried between its jaws some animal joint long stripped of meat. Two had their eyes closed without sleeping.

Hard footfalls sounded from the hallway, pursued by a nervous voice, "My Lord? My Lord?" over and over, obsequious melody against the percussion of those steps. It grew louder and more clear, approaching until the doors flung open.

Archlord Aamab stormed into the room and took his place at the head of the table before any of the others moved. The nervous functionary of lower rank stayed behind in the hallway: it was death to cross a threshold after a demon lord without invitation.

It called from the doorjamb, "My Lord?"

"Silence!"

Not a breath stirred. The generals stared at their liege, who propped his chin behind nested fists, storm clouds in his eyes. Everyone waited.

"The Cult of the Oracle," he said, growling the words out between clenched teeth, "would not rescind their prophecy."

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The finger-drumming demon general cleared his throat. "Shall I have their head priest eaten, Lord?"

"We ate two. The third took up the scepter and repeated the prophecy verbatim."

Another ventured, "Could they be compromised, playing a script penned by one of your enemies?

"Unknown and undetected by all my spies? I doubt it. Nothing with that much power over the Cult could remain hidden."

A different general yet tried, "Perhaps it's ambiguous. Prophecies are subtle things, holding multiple meanings."

That earned a snarl from the Archlord. "If you can sift any ambiguity out of 'Five years hence you will be destroyed and your powers claimed,' I'm open to interpretation."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"It could be a metaphor--?"

"ENOUGH!" the table shook at the word. The following silence rang like funeral bells.

"What force could 'destroy' me now? And what might have the strength 'five years hence'? A hero? A king? An army? A rival? A god? It's pointless to take defensive measures until we know the threat. That task now falls to you, commanders."

The Archlord held each of their eyes in turn, his expression a fearsome mixture of control, rage, iron will and danger.

"Find out. Use force. Use cunning. Slay, torture, ensorcel, beguile, bribe and fuck your way through every realm until you find out. You are all my spies now, no matter how blunt your methods. Infiltrate every court, demonic or human--or threaten to obliterate it. Not comfortable with espionage? I don't care. Learn how. Bargain with dragons, beg at the Heavenly Gate if you must."

He leaned back. "Who brings me the name of this future destroyer wins my child to wed. Bring me their broken, tattered soul in a bucket and you wed me."

Five shocked faces.

"The rest I eat."

Five empty chairs.