“Yenlar,” a thousand voices rang in his mind, all in different cadences, languages, and pitches. The Lastwallians that led him to Opulence talked amongst themselves before pointing at Yenlar. They surrounded him in a diamond formation as the voices in his mind continued to ring. “The ruler of Promise will hear our piece today. He will be convinced to go back to the rightful rule of objective law.” He knew who spoke to him. Though his form has drastically changed, the mien, the intent, and the terrifying stature stayed the same; it was His Master. “Aye,” Yenlar replied in his mind “With your demeanor and your compatriots’...ways, the lot of you can convince even a god, Ishurak.”

Ishurak. The Master of Blades, which Yenlar knew as his only accompanying nail in their squad, Claw Six. Governed and led by the Paravicar, master of Signifers in a Hellknight order, The Adorned. Even the thought of the title grinded Yenlar’s teeth. He used to bear the rank of Paravicar, back when The Adorned gave him diabolical magic. Back when both he and Ishurak were supposed to be damned. Though the hellspawn won’t admit it, the Lizard’s tale was always tragic. He’d reek of rust and blood whenever he’d tap into his former curse’s magic. His eyes sunken and all scales of his famous reptilian regalia would turn a dull gray. An Oracle’s burden is heavy. Ishurak’s Oracular Curse was a blight unto his being.

The Adorned was a devil of Mephistopheles, The Archduke of Cania, the eighth layer of Hell. The Adorned was the Rogue Devil, who despite all ties to the lawful plane of Hell, threw caution to the wind as he spited the ranks of order. He doomed both nails of Claw Six. Ishurak by a curse and contract, and Yenlar only by contract. Both played a part in an attempt at making The Archduke rule a part of this earth.

Both succeeded in subverting their demise. Both succeeded in turning eternal damnation into their blooming success within their order. First by Yenlar sacrificing himself, so Ishurak’s Oracular Curse would be lifted…and lastly by Ishurak tearing the contract that bound the Hellspawn’s soul to the Hells. Thus, The Lizard killed The Adorned.

That elected Ishurak to the rank of Paralictor after he swore to upkeep the tenets of Justice to Iomedae and the Godclaw as one, turning him into a Paladin. A few months forward, his ascension to an Inevitable - a creation of Aeons - gave him the rank and title of Master of Blades. Ishurak became a conduit of multiversal law the second he agreed to Abadar's terms. He became the Bulwark of Civilization, the Parchment of Order, and The Executioner of The Godclaw.

Yenlar was left to the sidelines.

In its stead, he received the Dark Prince’s murmurs. A tearing in his contractual relegations to the Hells, and letting his soul roam free. To compare that to Ishurak’s ascension to the mechanisms of utmost law is a fool's errand.

Yenlar’s plate clanked upon the blighted dirt road, surrounded by similar steel buckles hitting other steel buckles beside him. The knights stared with awkward suspicion at Yenlar as his Master communed with him through spell, all their helms pointed at the blackened plate bearer. He walked surrounded by Squad Gold, Bryann at the diamond’s head. Half a dozen helms stared directly at the Hellknight, none with the intentions of his defense, but theirs. Their weapons were drawn and held at a ready pose, all whilst walking to a promised city.

“You’ve mentioned,” The familiar voice of Bryann bellowed from the front of the diamond, “That your order is The Order of the Godclaw.” The sash that decorated the top of her helm swished in the air as her visor met his’. Yenlar tapped his breastplate twice, the symbol of his order - a five-pointed rotating star colored in gold - painted on it. “We are the crusaders of the Hellknight orders,” Yenlar’s low voice exorcized the putrid air, “We stand in prayer for five lawful deities, we call their council The Godclaw. Don’t know if you’ve heard about her but Iomedae is a member of said council.”

Bryann raised a clenched fist as Squad Gold halted their steps as one. Yenlar took another step inside the diamond formation before halting at their surprise. The human leading the squad turned with an eerie slowness at the realization. “I wondered how you’d take my choice of worship.” The Hellknight said, his smirk evident upon his honeyed words.

“You?!” The sash behind her helm danced in the wind as the Knight Paladin’s visor pointed at him. “The Lady of Justice chose you?!” her words shot at Yenlar. His metaphorical plate armor withstood her meaningless words with perfect ease. “I don’t see why not.” His forked tongue continued to cut deeper. “I value honor, act with righteous intent, and am temperate. I don’t think the latter stands for the both of us.” Though he would never show it, he took joy in the knowledge that it made Bryann seeth. She was a paladin, divine justice was her sword. She had nothing to prove to him - an honest soldier. Yet The Knight Paladin proved everything Yenlar wanted to know.

The silver strand shook from side to side as Bryann’s head shook, the diamond surrounding the hellknight still with swords drawn, and still with their defense in mind. She groaned as her shaking stopped, and he stood at zero change. “So what other gods do you follow?” She subverted her anger with a deflection.

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“Abadar,” Yenlar listed with zealous conviction in his voice. “Irori, Torag, and Asmodeus.” At the last name, the diamond sprung to motion. He took once glancing sweep at the knights before realizing all blades were pointed at him. He expected it. He took in every knight’s movement, each of their fighting styles as he realized that the percentages of him getting attacked are now not zero. More like five.

Some of the knights held their longswords with intent on a bull charge, whereas some held rapiers ready for a sinuous dance, their upcoming reaction bent on mobility. He knew the methods to counter both. He knew the necessary momentum to destroy strength, using his own, and he knew litheness was predictable. All of them trembled in their stances. ’They’re afraid.’

“Will you now judge me differently?” Yenlar held his hips, a smirk not yet evaporated as his eyes darted inside the visor.

“You worship,” Bryann prolonged each word, the speed of her advance matching her tongue as her hand moved to the handle of a longsword on her hip. “The Devil Prince.” her words continued to strike Yenlar’s plate like daggers. Still, he withstood. “He is the reason Iomedae fights who she fights.” She tried to sink a careful hit onto his impenetrable bulwark. It was useless, he sparred since childhood. Both by blade and tongue.

‘Not only filled with ego but also stupidity.‘

“He is the reason,” Yenlar uttered with the same slowness. “We still have a world that isn’t eaten by The God of the Apocalypse.”

“You dare raise Rovagug’s jailing as justification for everything Asmodeus did?!”

Two ancient enemies were forged at the beginning of time. Law, and Pandemonium. Asmodeus’ ascension to rule The Nine Hells, alongside his eight infernal generals, made him one of three candidates for law’s sanctity. Rovagug, The Maddened Beast, once ruled The Maelstrom, an everchanging pure conduit of chaos.

The Beast threatened to eat the entire multiverse, and someone had to cage it. Asmodeus’ coup to jail Rovagug succeeded, using plenty of trickery and might combined. Yet the topic of whom will be his jailer came up in the divine’s court. Who will have the key to The Beast’s prison? Abadar, ruler of Axis, The Perfect City of Law, vouched for Asmodeus due to his objectiveness. Who else would argue? Even the divine conduits that embodied life, kindness, and compassion agreed The Slaving God should be the keyholder for Rovagug’s Prison. Asmodeus would do what the law needed.

“Yes.” Yenlar parried her every strike. He could not see her eyes, but he knew one blood vessel could pop with all the turmoil his sentences carried.

“His law might be subjective,” He continued past her gaze. “Yet so is Iomedae’s.” He said, opening his palm to reveal all five holy symbols of each of the Godclaw’s divine beings. Each for every finger of his clawed gauntlet.

“Then why do you worship both of them?” The Knight Paladin’s sneering voice attempted another jab, a crack in his armor and sense of sentences.

“We view them differently than you do. Iomedae is law’s sword, Asmodeus is law’s strategic master.” Yenlar’s hand climbed slowly to reach for the horns on his helmet, a part of him knew he sowed enough fear for these knights to doubt whether attacking was a good strategy. He revealed his sanguine skin to the undergrowth and Squad Gold for the first time. He wagered a dart of honesty is what these knights needed. He wagered it was how they ticked.

He heard one knight mouth ’Cambion.’

“Can we now continue?” Yenlar’s golden eyes swiped with a boring look at each knight, ending at the head of the pack, his speech no longer muffled by steel.

Bryann’s plate bobbed as she sent a chuckle into the cold foul air.

“You do realize the irony, right, Hellspawn?” Bryann let go of the handle of her sword.

’Xenophobia? Really?’ He thought as he raised a black brow at the sentence. Anger was beyond him. It clouded judgment and made one impulsive. These two things are anathema to hellknights.

“No. It just makes you racist.” Yenlar responded with a monotone voice. His mind jolted him back to the saliva Egorians spat at his family’s crops back when he was a child. How the Riek’s Estate was burned by hate for his family’s horns. It didn’t anger him. It gave his lawful quest meaning.

“Prejudice lays the grounds for anarchy. Makes you temperamental. I don’t think our Goddess would like either, now would she?” Yenlar’s words pierced her plate as his smirk was now reigning victorious, and appeared to all eyes as a part of his infernal nature.

“That would be for Our Shield to decide.” Bryann held her fist once more towards the heavens as the squad around the hellknight marched anew.

In the distance, as they picked pace, Yenlar saw gates of stone beyond a clearing. His objective was nigh.