In the deepest, most hidden places in Rosengard sat ancient enchanted devices called realm portals. Realm portals could be formed almost anywhere, from the highest peaks of the Thorned Mountains to the lowest depths of the primordial seas. The differences in these old pieces of magic were the simplest things about them.
First, they required some kind of connection to the realm in which they are to access. Like an ancient enchanted grove is needed to form a link to the fey realms or a site of diabolic sacrifices for Hell. Second, they needed an influx of magical power to open and close safely. The magical paths that are present in all enchanted devices are doubly more complex, condensed, and intricate in these than ninety-eight percent of all other examples of enchanted devices.
One such portal sat at the bottom layer of the In-Fern-al ravines just twenty miles south of the nearest settlement of Willows Cross. This portal laid in a site practically drowning in, unsurprisingly, infernal energies and was a perfect conduit for a portal to the demon’s world.
The portal itself was a simple looking affair being a fifteen-foot tall by ten-foot-wide doorway carved out of a single block of pure blood dyed marble. If one were sensitive to the empathetic energies this particular portal exuded, they would be able to feel the anguish that the many who were sacrificed here felt while their lives were extinguished. Either that or they would cultivate a seed of insanity from the small percent of believers who willingly allowed their deaths here.
This door to Hell sat in a chamber the size of a royal audience chamber that was furnished by carved pillars the same blood-stained marble, a symbol of purity tarnished by violence. Each pillar had been gouged into over and over to write the names of the sacrificed. It stood as a dark testament to those whose lives fueled the creation of this passage. The floor had been carved into as well, but these symbols had more magical significance. These complex symbols and intricate occult circles interlocked, with many even overlapping on the perfectly smooth floor.
All these twisted runes and ritualistic circles seemed to center on the large portal itself, which always seemed to radiate infernal red-white light.
Standing guard just in front of the portals crimson frame itself stood two Grendel Demons. Giant burly humanoids with deep gray and black hides that covered it from head to toe. Behind its steel-red Corinthian helmet, its armor heavily reminiscent of a spartan warriors, a face grumpy looking gorilla face sat. Fangs jutted out from its thick lips that were cut to allow the large teeth freedom, and its eyes always seemed to be set in a glare that literally could shake any being to the core that didn’t have enough mental fortitude to resist the debuff.
This type of demon was considered heavy infantry in the infernal armies, and they would not have it any other way. Grendel demons could take a beating and give it in return, with each being the equivalent of a level fifty warrior at the minimum and a level eighty at the higher ranks.
These Grendels, however, were annoyed for being posted at the only Hell Portal on Rosengard that mortals haven’t seen in a century. They both would rather be on the practice fields back home readying for the battles against the higher realms or in actual combat against the feathered primates.
That was until a sudden influx of dark empathic energy flooded the room.
Every magical line, curve, and symbol on the floor began to shine with a deep crimson light that deepened the dark red stained marble to purest black. The light flowed from the hidden entrance to the chamber towards the portal itself. Neither of the Grendels was aware of what was transpiring in the chamber, but the power of whatever was at work seemed to build like a thunderhead.
Mere seconds later, the portal appeared as a shimmering veil of red-white energy that both demons recognized as their way in or out of the mortal realm.
One of the Grendel Demons looked at the other, a voice like grinding gravel said simply, “what should we do?”
“Protocol says that one of us should stay while the other goes to inform the captain,” the other Grendel responded. “You go and inform him,” he ruled. “I’ll stay here and defend the room until you or another returns.”
The first Grendel grunted in understanding and stepped through the portal. Immediately, he was in the Grendel Garrison outside the castle in the ninth circle of Hell.
Confusion ran through the Grendel as it looked at the heavily reinforced black stone walls of the castle. Somehow, this was not the same portal that he’d entered the portal from for his guard shift in the mortal realm. The Grendel’s protocol based mindset overcame its surprise. He needed to complete its mission.
Moving into a jog, he hurried into the barracks and relayed his news to the senior Grendel Captain on duty. The two were standing in the Captain’s office with the Grendel Guard standing at attention and chin tilted towards the ceiling, exposing its neck to the Captain as an act of submission.
The Captain looked through its guide book on the Rosengard portals and found the one in the bottom of the In-Fern-al Ravine almost immediately as it was at the front. The Captain read through the one-page entry quickly and practically panicked as he dismissed the Guard back to his post with a promise of an early guard change.
The one page was just a long-winded description of the procedure one was to follow if the room activated. Which led to saying the code phrase ‘I need to see the Overseer about forging the Avenging Sword’ out loud while channeling infernal power.
He did so and felt himself be torn apart by the spell that used his magical power pool to activate.
Seconds later, the Captain reformed inside a chamber twice the size of his own office, panting from the pain of the experience.
“What are you doing here unannounced, Grendel… Captain,” a smooth baritone asked a few feet in front of the Grendel. It looked up from the place it had crumpled on the floor and eyes widened as it looked at one of the most powerful demons in Hell, which also made him one of the most well known as well.
Baal was a unique demon in Hell, being one of the most humanoid looking of all the denizens of Hell. He stood just over eight feet tall with dark red skin, three sets of horns curving out of his skull like a macabre crown, and pale eyes devoid of irises. Clothed in a black and gray pinstripe suit with
polished leather shoes, the steward and current master of Hell was looking at the Grendel over a desk filled to the brim with paper, scrolls, and floating screens that were even visible to the Grendel Captain.
“Well?!” he asked, his tone showing his annoyance more than his expressionless face.
“Word from one of the Grendel Guards at the portal under the In-Fern-al Ravine. The sigils activated the portal on its own,” The Grendel Captain explained succinctly.
Baal dropped the ink pen he’d been using only seconds before. “How long ago?”
“Minutes ago, Sir,” the Grendel Guard answered.
The steward of Hell seemed to think furiously for a moment before locking eyes with the Grendel Captain, “What level are you?”
“Level seventy-four, Sir!” The Grendel Captain proclaimed proudly.
Baal nodded in acknowledgment of the Grendel’s words before locking eyes with the proud demon. “Your sacrifice for our lord and master is appreciated,” Baal said quickly and before pointing a long and spindly finger at the Grendel Captain. “Sacrifice! Outworld Communion!”
A beam of demonic light about as wide as the demon’s finger shot from Baal’s digit and struck the Grendel Captain in the center of his chest. The Captain stared at its chest as the magic took effect. An aura purple energy engulfed the lower-ranked demon and started to pulse with its heartbeat. The aura began to condense and squeeze the Grendel crushing its bones, grinding its flesh, and not even its screams escaped the spell’s effect.
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A minute had passed since the Baal had activated his spell, and the Grendel Captain was no more. In its place hovered an item called an ‘Inbetween Communion crystal,’ a dark amethyst with a bundle of blue-white lights that flitted within the fist-sized gem. It floated to him, and he held it delicately as if it could break if he did anything else.
“Hautley!” Baal screamed, his voice carrying out of his relatively small office.
“Yes, Sir?!” a woman called as she hurried into the room. Hautley was a gorgeous creature standing six and a half feet tall, with a slender frame, and a business-like demeanor. Her platinum blonde hair framed a beautiful dark-skinned face that bore soft and kind golden eyes. These things mixed with her small elk-like horns, slender tail that ended in a wicked barb, and wearing a pitch-black pantsuit that was rather modestly cut belied the fact that she was a high ranked succubus.
“Call Arioch here now. We are running out of time before the outworlder respawns, and we need to send him now,” Baal told her quickly.
“Outworlder? You mean that empathic tremor a few minutes ago? That was an outworlder?” she asked, confused.
“Get him now, ask questions later!” Baal bellowed, causing Hautley to flinch at the power that Baal released unknowingly. “Even with the relative time speed difference with here and his world, we don’t have much time before he leaves his void!”
She saluted and pulled up her status screens. She was done seconds later and bowed to Baal as an acknowledgment of her finished task. “Will there be anything else, Sir?”
“Wait here,” Baal ordered. “Once the Dracowolf is gone, you are free to ask what questions you have,” Baal told her. It wasn’t that he wanted to tell her these things, but he knew that if he didn’t answer them quickly, then she wouldn’t be very productive until she knew. This succubus was still young, and her habit of being nosy would get her in trouble someday. Just not today.
Seconds passed, and Arioch appeared in the room, standing to his full hunched height, the dracowolf clan leader looked almost exactly like what was expected of his race. A werewolf in its hybrid form with draconic features with Arioch himself standing at only ten feet tall. Baal and Hautley both knew he could be much larger and imposing than this on a whim. A common trait of clan leaders was a significant difference in power compared to others of their species.
“You called M’lord?” Arioch bowed.
“I need you to go on a mission to one of the outworlder’s voids. One by the name of,” Baal paused to look over his floating screens. “DevilWalker. Huh, Ironic.”
“Is he the one we felt,” Arioch asked.
“Indeed he is,” Baal answered. “I believe that he will be the best choice to point towards the ruins and get the treasures underneath. Offer him the class, weapon, and abilities down there in exchange for an equal amount of favors. The first of which will be given as soon as he takes the class. Do you understand? We need him on board for this, Arioch. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, I assume that was why you called me, Lord Baal.” Arioch grinned. “I’m much less prone to bouts of anger and pride than the others in my station. M’lord, if I may ask a question before you send me off.”
“If you must,” Baal said, growing noticeably impatient.
Arioch swallowed and looked Baal in the eyes. “Do you think he’s the one who’ll bring our king back?”
Baal looked away from the Dracowolf leader and up at one of the screens in front of him. This screen was different from the others that showed Baal statistics of the battles that raged continually against the heavens and other threats. This screen was a string of predictive algorithms that usually showed lines of random eventualities that could be used against their foes.
Now, however, all it showed was a single line with several branching possibilities that looked like a timeline out of a history textbook.
Looking back at Arioch, Baal did something that no one had ever seen him do before. He shrugged. “It’s not clear if he will or won’t, but the prediction’s state that he will mostly get the chance to choose.”
A tear formed in Arioch’s eye at Baal’s statement. The very thought of their king returning made the demon shed a tear in joy. An expression of overwhelming happiness was not something that demons did every millennium. “Then send me with haste, Lord Baal. I shall speak with our Anti-Messiah.”
Baal held out the glittering amethyst for Arioch to take, “good luck, Lord Arioch. Only return here if you fail to convince him to take the quest.”
Nodding in understanding of the implied threat, Arioch took the gem and squeezed.
The crystal shattered, and the demon’s body vanished in a pop of purple light.
“Alright, Hautley, speak your mind,” Baal instructed, watching the succubus fidget in the corner of the room as she waited.
“Sir,” she said tentatively. “Did the predictions honestly say that this human has a chance to free our king? We’ve been locked in this prison for so long, him in particular, that it seems unlikely.”
Baal grinned toothily at her, “yes, it did. Along with a long list of other things that could happen before that point. This human is a driven one, and I have a feeling that he will be interesting to watch and work with soon.”
“How so, sir,” Hautley asked, her tail swishing through the air with her somewhat contained enthusiasm.
“The ruins under Willows Cross, the one we are sending DevilWalker to get his class from, is a limitless dungeon,” Baal said with a wicked grin.
“I’m sorry, sir. What is a limitless dungeon?” she asked, her head cocked curiously.
“You have access to the central libraries, correct?” Baal continued when she nodded. “You need to read some lore books; it could only help you understand more about the world we live in. A limitless dungeon is exactly as the name implies, but not as you think. It is a dungeon that, by its very nature, has no limits to what it can do. You can enter the first chamber and fight a junk golem on its last leg and enter the second. Only to be eaten by the Elder Draconic Horror that manifested in the next. It is a place that makes levels irrelevant and makes true skill and intuition the most important things.” Baal explained to his secretary.
“But doesn’t that mean there’s no chance of him succeeding?” Hautley asked.
“There is always a chance, Hautley. It’s one of the fundamental rules of this world that there must always be a chance for success within any area. I mean, heaven’s above us, there’s even a chance the humans could beat us here, but that’s so infinitely small that even I discount it.” Baal exclaimed. “But the DevilWalker’s chances are higher than most at defeating that dungeon if my numbers are correct. Especially if he meets him.”
“Who is he?” Hautley asked.
“A hero from the past,” Baal stated, tapping his chin in thought. “The predictive algorithms are telling me that there is a pattern to the dungeons spawns, and there is a good chance that something extraordinary will happen. Either that or he dies,” Baal said with a small exhale. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Oh, and that reminds me,” Hautley said with a huff. “My cousin will be coming back soon from his training with the HellRime Knights soon. He requested that I ask you, my lord if you might have a post for one such as him. No need to say you do on my behalf, I only promised to pass along the message, nothing else.”
“Which cousin? The tall one? The big breasted one? Oh, is it the one with cerulean hair?” Baal asked, grinning at his secretary.
“Sir, I know you’re being facetious right now, but you know how many of us match those descriptions. Succubus and Incubus included.” Hautley said with a sigh. "It is so hard for a succubus to be taken seriously when we're known for being seducers of men. You have no idea how many members of my family think that you hired me for the extra duties everyone seems to expect."
“That does not answer my question," Baal stated evenly. "Which cousin?” it repeated.
“Larrimortias LaGrelle, the Hollow Incubus,” she answered.
“Ah yes, that one. What was he hoping for?” Baal asked, suddenly bored with the conversation and hoping to get back to work. Hell, it seemed, might as well have invented bureaucracy with the sheer amount of paperwork he did.
“He didn’t say. Only that he was hoping for a position serving Lord Baal in some capacity,” Hautley answered.
“How much do you like this cousin?” Baal asked, looking back at the paperwork on his desk.
“Larrimortias is alright. He’s the first of us to become a HellRime Knight, so that makes him especially respected amongst the family.” Hautley told him. “Mother thinks very highly of him.”
“I sense a but,” Ball stated.
She hedged for a moment as if she couldn’t decide whether she should say anything against someone from the family. When she spoke again, it was even and informative only. “While he’s respected, Larrimortias is also peculiar for one of our kind. As I said, he’s a Hollow Incubus, my lord.” She informed him.
“I see,” Baal said, his eyes peering up at the predictive algorithms screen for a moment. That moment was enough to make him look a little closer look at the screen and smile.
“You have my authority, Hautley, to tell your cousin whatever you have to to keep him busy and working on his levels but nearby. We may need him eventually.” Baal said, splitting the predictive algorithm screen into two. One for this, DevilWalker and the second for the complete overview. Just because this human was important, didn’t mean he could lose sight of the big picture.
He had many goals. The most important of which wasn’t to free their king or defeat their eternal foes, the high heavens.
He would do whatever it took to destroy this wretched artificed world and go back to the planes of existence that they lived millennia before — before their old-world finally defeated them.