Elfen High 2(Closed OOC 10. Je vois le chaos en dessous.)

[Zarkenis Ultima]

You know what's awful? Getting home from a great day at Busch Gardens only to find out the vet had to put your cat to sleep.

This thing is taking a while to write.

Part of it is Alastor fighting his brother DBZ-style. -Nods-

Can you actually please post IC?

I quite need that right now.

I'm on it.

I needed a break anyway. . At this rate the damn thing will be over five thousand fucking words.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

You made me do this, Khan!

[Nightkill the Emperor]

You made me do this, Khan!

[Constaniana]

You made me do this, Khan!

[Zarkenis Ultima]

I'm glad my efforts are appreciated.

[Nationstatelandsville]

This is what Terry Nation would have wanted.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

This is what Terry Nation would have wanted.

He's crying joyfully right now.

[Nationstatelandsville]

This is what Terry Nation would have wanted.

He's crying joyfully right now.

And counting his massive stash of money.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

In my EU4 game, I turned on random new world.

This created an island. This island was originally populated by Navajo, Dakota, Shoshone, Pueblo and other Native tribes.

Then entered the Creek, who took over more than half the island. Then the Mayans took over one province, and the Han (yes, the Chinese) took over five provinces that were swallowed up by the Creek.

Now, two centuries later, the English arrive and start conquering, creating English Guyana. But now Russia has taken three provinces.

This is a fucking diverse island.

[Nationstatelandsville]

In my EU4 game, I turned on random new world.

This created an island. This island was originally populated by Navajo, Dakota, Shoshone, Pueblo and other Native tribes.

Then entered the Creek, who took over more than half the island. Then the Mayans took over one province, and the Han (yes, the Chinese) took over five provinces that were swallowed up by the Creek.

Now, two centuries later, the English arrive and start conquering, creating English Guyana. But now Russia has taken three provinces.

This is a fucking diverse island.

This is an entire fucking pantheon of assholes.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

In my EU4 game, I turned on random new world.

This created an island. This island was originally populated by Navajo, Dakota, Shoshone, Pueblo and other Native tribes.

Then entered the Creek, who took over more than half the island. Then the Mayans took over one province, and the Han (yes, the Chinese) took over five provinces that were swallowed up by the Creek.

Now, two centuries later, the English arrive and start conquering, creating English Guyana. But now Russia has taken three provinces.

This is a fucking diverse island.

This is an entire fucking pantheon of assholes.

I'm fascinated by this post-independence, really.

Let's look at our Guyana. Creek in the North and East. Chinese influence in East as well. Chinese are split between Protestant and Orthodox. Creek are all Protestant. Then, in the West, you have the Totemist Native tribes. Finally, you have some English Protestants in the far North.

This is great.

[Nationstatelandsville]

This is an entire fucking pantheon of assholes.

I'm fascinated by this post-independence, really.

Let's look at our Guyana. Creek in the North and East. Chinese influence in East as well. Chinese are split between Protestant and Orthodox. Creek are all Protestant. Then, in the West, you have the Totemist Native tribes. Finally, you have some English Protestants in the far North.

This is great.

In reality, that would explode into a horrible mess of human rights violations and undying cultural hatred.

The same thing happens in EUIV, but it's more fun.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Steam is desperate to let me know Astro has the CKII demo.

One of us! One of us!

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Steam is desperate to let me know Astro has the CKII demo.

One of us! One of us!

He should try to remake the Roman Empire.

[Nude East Ireland]

I need a few hundred more piety points. Then I can form the "Empire of Britannia".

The seal of Britannia is a white flag with a red dragon. Suddenly, Roose Godwin has become a Targaryen.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I need a few hundred more piety points. Then I can form the "Empire of Britannia".

The seal of Britannia is a white flag with a red dragon. Suddenly, Roose Godwin has become a Targaryen.

Roose "the Pious".

I'm sold.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

The Demon Lord sat there, in his little shelter underground, an intrincate network of machinery permeating the entire area. It was not, in fact, little; in fact, it was anything but. The place was a massive cavern dug, or rather, burned into the surface of the hellish moon of Astaria by none other than the Demon Lord himself, for the express purpose of housing the contraption that even now lived there beneath the surface, carrying out a lonely existence, unknown to life, nor known to death, escaping form the knowledge of all creatures except one, the one creature that could pay it a visit every once in a while. And yet, this time, the Demon Lord was not terribly talkative, merely sitting there, in his little underground shelter, drinking ammounts of alcohol capable of easily knocking out any grown man from an unlabeled red bottle of glass as he observed his reflection below.

Suddenly, the mechanisms all around him momentarily sprang to life in a symphony of whirring and clanking noises that lasted several seconds until, as suddenly as they had come, they all went away. The only sounds in the cave afterwards were those of the Demon Lord's existence, the echoes that reverberated through the bowels of the moon, and the sound of a small scroll shooting off from some unseen corner and hitting the ground in front of him. The Demon Lord picked it up and read it.

WHAT AILS YOU?

He did not give any answer, merely placing the scroll aside and taking another drink. For one day, he allowed his mind to wander back to times long gone.

---

The Unyielding, a mountain of massive proportions so named because of its unlikely shape, which ressembled that of a half-buried fallen warrior in his death throes, extending his sword to the distant horizon in a final, defiant threat. It was, needless to say, a quite unstable shape, but this, coupled with the fact that the mountain had stood tall without change for hundreds of years, simply made its name all the more fitting.

The warlord stood, watching the defiant shape standing in the distance, dominating the horizon. Indeed, there was not much else to see in these distant moorlands, dark sand and formations of crimson rock stretching as far as the eye could see under a bloody, bleary sky as the ruthless wind swept through, lifting up enormous clouds of dust and carrying them off to another barren place. It was said that many of the monsters demons had descended from had been born there, in those deserted lands, but now, the only life present was that of the warlord itself, and the distant rumbling of the massive horrors that slumbered beneath the surface... And the reason the warlord had come.

Eventually, he turned around, deciding that he had stared at his destination for too long. Putting this off any longer was not going to do him any good, and he could certainly not turn back now. The wounds he had sustained during his journey had healed for the most part, but now, he was certain, many more would be suffered. And yet, this did not deter him. He had come too far to turn back now, after all.

Thus, it was time to advance, and so the warlord walked back to his mount, a majestic creature that was as fearsome as it was mighty. Its hide was black as the eternal and suffocating void between the stars, with a mane that made one think of a wildfire spreading out of control, and hooves that looked as if they were burning irons. Its four open eyes were red, but not a burning, hot red, or a red that ressembled the color of blood. They were a dark red, glaring harshly at everything in sight, nothing but cold disregard present in them. What appeared to be a giant fifth eye was on the creature's chest, perpetually closed, yet unsettling any who looked at it. From its skull, a spiral horn protruded, painted red with the blood of many an unlucky creature.

"Let's go, girl." He said to the creature, who replied with a nightmarish neigh. And together they rode off, off towards the mountain.

---

A lonely traveler shrouded in a dusty cloak walked through the windswept moorlands, carrying nothing but a shovel and a bag of supplies he had the common sense of taking along in order to survive the long journey. His voyage to that place had been a much more difficult affair, as the baggage he had been forced to bring had been much greater than that with which he was now making his way back to the rotten place he called a home. He looked up, and saw that the sun had nearly finished sinking beneath the horizon. Undoubtedly, his greatest priority at the moment was that of finding shelter in this harsh land, for he was certain that he would not survive the freezing night out here in the open all by himself.

It was in the middle of this important task that the lonely traveler saw something most strange from the corner of his eye, and turned around to look again. Indeed, there, at the foot of the Unyielding, a dark, nightmarish creature stood, its hooves scorching the ground beneath. The creature seemed to see him as well, for it began galloping towards him. The traveler's first instinct was to run for his life, but three things kept him from doing so. The first and most obvious was that he would simply not be able to outrun such a creature for long enough to find a place safe from it. He doubted he would have been able to outrun it at all. The second and most strange was that, for some reason, the creature seemed to try to convey that it meant him no harm. The third and most important, however, was that the traveler saw that the beast was carrying something.

Or rather, someone.

---

Drop.

Black blood dripped from an open wound and into the scorched ground beneath, almost invisible, as the darkness of the night shrouded everything like a torn shadow mantle, broken up only by the light of the Hell star, whose rays bounced off of the planet's several moons and cast themselves down towards the surface, illuminating that which lay beneath the atmosphere... Even though the scene was far from pleasant. For miles and miles around, most of the ground was completely incinerated, with no flora whatsoever having survived whatever it was that had destroyed the landscape. Only charred and withered corpses remained, few as they were, and only the glinting moons and the occasional burning tree provided any light in that forsaken place. The only thing that seemed even remotely natural nearby was a river that flowed impassible not far away from there, even after the destruction that had taken place.

Not that this place hadn't always looked like that. In fact, it had been a forsaken, incinerated land for a long, long time. Most things that had once lived there had long since left or had been destroyed by the sole inhabitant of that valley of damnation, and even though nature attempted to creep back into that land every now and then, these attempts were invariably burned to ashes by the creature that had claimed the place as its own.

Drop.

The demon looked at the beast, and then at himself. The beast's four eyes were locked firmly on him, though it was a tad difficult for them to be any other way, as its horn was currently embedded in the demon's shoulder. And yet, he seemed to do nothing about this, merely letting the blood continue dripping from his wound as the horn sat there. Being so close to this creature, he could feel the heat emanating from it, and the pain in his shoulder was a thing of nightmares, but still he did nothing, and merely waited. He had already sustained other such wounds, after all. One in his leg, and a couple on his side. Several burns were visible on his body along with them, as well as clear signs that he had been sent flying several times, as the beast had not always seen it fit to impale him.

Eventually, the creature relented. It backed off, the horn exiting the demon's shoulder as it did so, and then it seemed to gallop away. But, in fact, it was merely taking some distance. Almost without warning, it turned right back around and began galloping back towards the demon, its hooves leaving behind a trail of ephemeral fire that failed to live long, for there was nothing left to burn. It galloped, with the apparent intent to impale the demon with its horn once more. And still the demon did nothing. He did not move. He did not prepare. He didn't even speak. He did absolutely nothing as his executioner drew closer and closer, like destiny itself wrapped up in a devilish guise.

Drop.

And yet, mere moments before the horn impacted him, he moved. He bowed. He lowered himself with great force so that his head wound up impacting the beast's skull, right below its bloodstained horn.

To this day, Alastor is the only creature in all of time and existence who is known to have headbutted a Helicorn and lived.

The two beings stood, locked in a battle of wills as their heads, connected with each other's, pushed constantly against the other, both of them feeling the massive pressure their skulls were being subjected to and yet neither of them relenting in the least, as neither wished to surrender to the other. They continued in this fashion for several minutes, until at last, something happened.

The beast was pushed back.

It was only a step, a simple centimeter, barely anything, but it had been pushed back. And at that moment, it relented completely, separating itself from the demon and allowing him to stand back up as it bowed its head towards him in a sign of deference. The demon, wounded as he was, felt something in his head. It was the creature, trying to communicate with him. It conveyed... Concession. Yes, concession. It communicated with him, and conveyed that it conceded him victory in this battle, and the legendary privilege that came with this concession.

"...Good choice." The demon said at last. "Good choice."

Drop.

Then, with much effort, he walked back to his sword. He had tossed the blade aside upon encountering the creature, knowing that it was not only impractical, but also downright cowardly to fight something so majestic with a weapon not granted by nature itself. Of course, there was also the fact that he did not wish to kill the Helicorn, as the creature could undoubtedly tell from his peculiar strategy of allowing himself to be wounded repeatedly.

Regardless, the battle was over now, and so the demon picked up his blade and headed back to the Helicorn, proceeding to mount the creature and ride off towards the everdistant horizon as the first lights of dawn broke through the mantle of shadows.

---

Alastor opened his eyes slowly. He could feel the searing pain coursing through his body, permeating his very being, and yet, it felt... Dull. Distant. As though he had somehow grown accustomed to it, even when the punishment he had taken had been beyond brutal. He could feel his wounds, and his beating heart, and noticed that he was no longer leaking blood from any of them, as they had been tended to by someone. He could feel the ruthless wind sweeping its way through the landscape, bringing along the freezing cold of the infernal nights with it. He could see the darkness above once again, almost covering the entire sky with darkness, only broken up by the light of the moons and the stars, shining above, lonely beacons of luminosity in a void that was greater than any ocean or horizon. He could feel the struggling warmth of a flame dancing nearby, providing him with some degree of comfort even in the grievously battered state he was in. He could see the light of the flame, illuminating the area around him, though not to any significant degree. He could feel. He could feel that, beyond any shadow of doubt, he, Alastor, was still alive.

Perhaps most importantly, though, he could feel the water pouring into his mouth and down his throat.

"You're awake. Finally. I was starting to think you were never going to move again." A voice said to him as the water stopped pouring. Curious, the wounded demon attempted to sit up, but the pain coursing through his body intensified tenfold and pinned him to the ground like a dozen swords impaling him and preventing him from being able to move at all.

"Easy there. You look like shit and you're wounded so much I'm amazed you're alive, so you're going to have to stay down at least for tonight." The voice stated. Alastor merely sighed, not without some effort, and resigned himself to a night of gazing at the stars and conversing with disembodied voices.

"Say, is that creature yours?" The voice asked, Alastor's interlocutor finally coming into view, if only to point towards the creature mentioned. The other demon... He was ugly, but that was hardly something to blame him for. He was no uglier than other demons, in any case. Scaly, parched skin and a scarred face obscured beneath a dirt, dusty cloak. And yet, for some reason, the wounded demon was glad. This was, for all intents and purposes, the first friendly face he had seen in months, the first friendly face ever since he started this journey.

The wounded demon turned his head with great effort in order to follow the other one's finger, and managed to catch a glimpse of the Helicorn, which seemed to notice him awake as well and conveyed pity and mockery for having sustained so much damage. Despite himself and despite his sorry state and grievous wounds, Alastor chuckled. For an ancient, solemn and dangerous creature, the Helicorn sure was a snarky fellow.

"Yes." The wounded demon confirmed.

Afterwards, there was silence. After a long time of this, perhaps minutes or perhaps hours, the wounded demon decided to break the silence once again.

"Who are you?" He asked of the voice. The response was as swift as it was casual.

"Me? Oh, the name's not important, really. But everyone calls me L'Enfer." He assured.

---

"It's nothing." The Demon Lord said at last, looking to the side, losing sight of his reflection. Almost immediately, the cacophony of mechanical noises started up once again, though this time it was much swifter and short-lived, as the finished product, another small scroll, soon enough smacked Alastor right in the face, the noises dying down afterwards once again.

BULLSHIT

Upon reading these words, the Demon Lord frowned, gritting his teeth, but merely shook his head instead of saying anything and simply took another long drink of his bottle, staring down at his reflection once more. The mechanical symphony came and went once more, this time softly depositing a scroll at the Demon Lord's feet. He glanced down at it, reading the characters in it.

IS IT THE PAST?

No response.

---

Finally, he was here. After months of traveling through the inhospitable northern wastelands of Hell, he had arrived at his destination. He hardly remembered what had prompted him to embark on this journey anymore, but the end was nigh. Now the only thing that was left to do was to go forward and face the enemy. But he was to do that alone.

"This is no place for a horse." He said to the Helicorn as he dismounted, waving his hand and opening a portal in front of him.

Ripple.

"I have to go alone." He insisted as he turned around after walking up to the portal, noticing the creature following him regardless of his words. The two stared at each other harshly for several moments, until finally, the creature granted him concession once again. Nodding, the warlord stepped through.

Ripple.

Far above, the sun had reached its zenith long ago, and now began its long descent into the western sky, still casting its bloody light upon the Unyielding. The warlord stood upon what would be the hilt of the soldier's blade, walking forward slowly, his gaze, unmoving, fixed entirely on something that stood in front of him, the one thing that had brought him all the way from his realm to this place.

Finally, Alastor stood before him. His enemy.

"Brother." The warlord said at last.

"You're no brother of mine, Alastor." The exile replied harshly, making his way up to the warlord and slowly circling around him. "Whatever did you come here for, little boy?" He asked affably. "Did you come here to mock me after you put the blame on me?!" He roared afterwards, his voice changing abruptly to properly convey his wrath as he took a step in Alastor's direction.

The warlord, however, remained impassible.

"You don't seem very happy to see me." Alastor remarked.

For several moments, there was silence, until it was broken by a dark chuckle coming from the exile, who took a step back and continued circling around the warlord. "Oh, no, no. I am delighted to see you, old friend!" The warlord's brother said with such great glee that anyone would insist that it could not belong to anyone that was not a murderous maniac. "Now I finally have the chance to settle the score!" He screamed in rage afterwards, flying towards the warlord with his fist clenched, ready to deal a devastating blow to his brother. Alastor immediately turned around and brought up his sword to block the attack, but he was still pushed back several meters, the stones beneath his feet cracking, crushed by the enormous force with which the warlord was being pushed back. And even then, the exile did not seem to suffer any damage from having his fist collide with a perfectly sharp sword.

It was then that the warlord noticed. The exile's fist had not connected with the sword. It merely hovered there, centimetres away.

"What is it, dear brother?" The exile said, his voice becoming a mockery of friendliness once again, though the disdainful sarcasm with which he pronounced the last word was quite evident. "YOU DON'T SEEM VERY HAPPY TO SEE ME!" He roared once again, bringing up his other fist to punch the warlord in the stomach, though Alastor dodged this time instead of trying to block, narrowly avoiding the full force of his brother's fist.

He could not, however, avoid the full force of his brother's heel, which hit him squarely in the chest, sending him flying back. Landing quite heavily, he got up to a kneeling position and disgorged a great ammount of black blood through his helmet before standing up once again.

The exile, meanwhile, merely began pacing around slowly once again. "Now tell me, spineless child, what in the eternal brimstone have you come here for?" He demanded casually as he paced around the giant stone hilt.

"I, Alastor Astkrv, Black Lord of the Northern Empire, Secondborn of Astaroth," The warlord began.

"Usurper of rightful rulers, patricidal coward, obnoxious son of a whore," The exile mocked him, though this caused no reaction in the warlord.

"have come to end you, Altair Astkrv, Firstborn of Astaroth." He concluded. The exile initially grinned, but then his expression suddenly became grim and determined as he turned to face his brother.

"I suppose there is nothing else to say, then." He said in an incredibly calm voice. For several moments, there was silence.

And then the two demons rushed at each other, ready to kill, as death, however possible, was irrelevant.

Altair was the first to try, sending his vicious knee up towards Alastor's stomach, but the warlord saw this coming and sidestepped, manuevering around his brother's body in order to slash at his back. Before he could do so, Altair's elbow crashed against his blade. The sound of bone clashing against metal was quite a thing to hear, but neither demon stopped to admire it. The blade managed to slice through the exile's skin, drawing some of his own black blood, but this was mostly due to the force carried by the elbow itself, and against the demon juggernaut's bones it could do little, instead causing its wielder to be sent back several feet by the sheer force of the impact.

The exile did not let this opportunity go to waste. Turning around immediately, he flew at Alastor once again, his left claw rending the ground as he cleaved through the air. The warlord managed to pull himself together. His hand glowed a dark purple as several powerful amorphous bolts of darkness shot forward at vertiginous speeds, impacting his brother and causing some damage, as could be seen by the searing of his skin and the darkening of his armor, but they were completely useless in making him deter or throwing him off course. The warlord then decided to use his own speed and strength against him and leapt forward as well, sword pointed at him, but the exile was smarter than that and slowed down his charge enough to twist around his body in mid-air, kicking Alastor's sword away from him and then delivering a crushing fist blow to his head, shattering part of the side of his helmet and drawing even more blood, as shards of metal embedded themselves in his skin. The warlord was, once again, sent flying quite far, as the punch had sent him all the way to the edge of the mountain.

"Is that all you've got, Alastor?" The exile shouted as he slowly walked towards him, hurling his own sword at him, though with no murderous intent. It embedded itself harmlessly in the ground in front of the warlord, who had finally managed to pick himself up from the ground. It had not been an attempt to kill him. It had been a gesture of honor.

"Honor. His one greatest virtue." The warlord thought in regard to his brother.

"And I soiled it."

"Come, boy! I know you can put up a fight much better than that!" His brother said, challenging him. And then, upon seeing Alastor stand, he charged once again. The warlord saw this and immediately tossed his blade at his brother with all of his strength. The weapon impacted the exile and buried itself in his shoulder, stopping at the bone once again, though this time it did manage to halt his advance, however momentarily. The exile merely grimaced before attempting to resume his charge, but that moment was all the warlord needed. A bolt of darkness, greater and stronger than the previous ones, hit him straight in the face, causing him to howl in pain and blinding him momentarily. When he opened his eyes again, the warlord was already upon him. Alastor's shoulder crashed into Altair's stomach, much to the latter's surprise. Before he could react, the nimble demon manuevered around him once again, placing his foot behind his brother's and causing him to fall to the ground with a well-placed elbow to the chest, firing off a large black bolt at his chest at point-blank range right afterwards. The exile roared and kicked the warlord in the chest viciously in an attempt to gain some ground. Succeeding, he got up and flew at Alastor, but the warlord crouched and used the exile's own momentum to hurl him away. When the exile had turned back, he was greeted by two fists to the face in quick sucession. Instantly, the warlord dislodged his sword from his brother's shoulder and slashing horizontally, creating a large gash across his stomach.

He then attempted to slash once again, but the exile caught the blade with his fist, and used his other hand to punch Alastor in the chest, sending him back and causing his chestplate to crack from all the punishment it was taking.

"Not bad. Not bad at all." Altair conceded, standing up at his full height, towering over the warlord as he took his sword from the hilt with his other hand and licked the blood of his first. "BUT YOU CAN STILL DO BETTER!" He roared suddenly, hurling the sword at the still dazed warlord. This time the hilt struck him in the head, cracking his helmet as well. "Show me, brother! Show me the magic that slaughtered our father Astaroth!" The exile challenged. "SHOW ME THE POWER OF THE BLACK KING!"

Standing up, Alastor took his sword with both hands and placed the tip against the ground. And suddenly, the entire landscape seemed to darken as he slashed upwards, an enormous crescent blast of darkness the size of a speeding truck being born from his blade's motion and rushing towards the exile faster than the eye could follow. This time, it was Altair who was sent back hundreds of meters, until he managed to slow down to a halt, standing at the very tip of the blade of the Unyielding.

"Much better." He said, his voice being carried all throughout the mountain against all logic. Then, he stood upright once again and spread his arms. Suddenly, his fingers, then his fists, then his whole arms had been engulfed in burning crimson flames.

Round two had begun.

Altair flew towards Alastor, but the warlord jumped forward into a portal only to exit several dozen metres ahead, right next to the exile. Another enormous bolt of darkness fired off, and though the exile managed to block by crossing his arms in front of him, it still pushed him back, off the mountain. But his wings were not only for display, and so after falling off, he suddenly rose menacingly above the horizon. Alastor hurled another bolt at him, but the exile swiftly dodged it, along with every oncoming bolt the warlord sent towards him, until finally, he decided to strike back. An enormous column of hungering flames descended upon Alastor, and though most of his body was covered in armor and his blade served him in blocking the attack, his face burned excruciatingly under the heat.

Another stream of flames followed the first, but this time, it collided with a blast of darkness. The exile fired off several more, to no avail.

Eventually, the warlord realized that he would not be able to win like this. The next time the exile looked for him, he would not see him there in the ground. Instead, he would feel a giant bolt of darkness hit one of his wings, sending him off balance and causing him to plummet for several meters. As he looked around for the source of such an assault, he caught a glimpse of Alastor falling through the air from a portal and into another. Immediately he turned around, just in time to see another black bolt and fire off a beam of fire in retaliation.

And so the demon brothers battled. Under the bloody twilight, explosions of black and vermilion engulfed the sky above the defiant, suffering soldier who still challenged the ever indifferent horizon. Bolts of darkness and streams of flames collided with one another, causing enormous bursts of energy that caused the earth and the sky alike to rumble as the wind howled all around. The warlord teleported from one place to the other, always in movement as he fought his brutal enemy, while the exile merely flew back and forth through the destroyed sky, keeping the pace with his brother, able to meet his every attack just in time despite his wounded wing. It was evident that he had to make quite an effort for his magic to hold off against Alastor's, as the latter was the more powerful of the two in that regard, but what Altair lacked in magical prowess, he made up for by being a blood-hungering juggernaut, as he swiftly demonstrated by suddenly flying up to Alastor and brought down both of his hands upon him in a single fist, sending him plummeting towards the ground. The warlord predictably crashed, leaving a rather large crater in the center of the hilt of the Unyielding's blade, though the mountain stood as firmly as ever despite the damage it had sustained during the fight.

However, Alastor remained undefeated. With one knee on the ground, he held his sword in front of him, burying the tip of it into the mountain. He concentrated, calling upon his powers, the area around him becoming devoid of light. Something big was coming, the exile could tell just by looking at this. But before he did anything about it, it happened. An enormous serpent made of darkness rose from the place Alastor had been kneeling in moments ago, slithering across the air towards Altair. Its size easily put the largest of the giant serpents that lived in Hell to shame, and yet Altair was anything but frightened. He waited patiently in his place in the sky until the serpent lunged at him, and then he fired a stream of flames straight into its mouth. The snake attempted to continue its obliterating charge, but it was effectively halted by the column of fire, which burned through the snake's body slowly but steadily, until at long last, the snake was no more.

Then, a portal opened in front of Altair, and Alastor jumped out of it, slashing at the exile's wing, separating it from his body before his momentum carried him to another portal and deposited him safely on the ground. Without one of his wings and with the other one wounded, Altair could fly no more, and instead plummeted to the ground, a burning meteor that coursed through the sky until it crashed, straight into the neck of the Unyielding warrior. He then exited through the other side of the figure's head. Needless to say, he had long since left Alastor's field of vision, but the warlord knew better than to let his guard down when the kill was anything but confirmed, especially around a foe as dangerous and this, and so, he waited, watching the horizon warily for any sign of his brother.

It came soon enough. A truly enormous pillar of fire soon rose above the mountain, which was starting to fall apart due to the damage that had been caused to it, the warrior's head fallling off and onto the ground. It rose up into the sky, before ending abruptly. For several moments, the warlord could see nothing else, but then, a dot appeared in the sky, a dot that grew at alarming speeds up until its shape could be discerned as that of Altair. However, by then it was too late, and as the exile landed, he punched Alastor, his momentum coupled with his strength causing the blow to possess such force that it sent the warlord straight through the mountain and towards the ground, completely shattering his chestplate and destroying the hilt of the Unyielding warrior's blade in the process. The blade began falling towards the ground, though it retained its horizontal position.

Several moments passed, and then, Altair saw a portal open, and he saw the warlord step through, wounded as he was, looking up at him. The exile could tell what this meant, and so, he jumped down onto the falling stone platform, once again standing face to face with his brother.

Altair charged once more, this time running across the ground, as he could no longer fly, though his speed was no different than before and his footsteps caused the entire platform to shake. However, instead of facing him head-on like before, Alastor retreated into a portal, exiting to the left of Altair and quite far from him. He hurled a bolt of darkness at the exile before running into another portal, circling around him in this fashion for some time. Whenever Altair attempted to attack Alastor, he would find that the warlord used his portals to keep himself safe from the wrath of the exile, and though his bolts were currently not very powerful, they would still wear him down in time. Altair knew that unless he found a way to counter the warlord's new tactic, he would not be able to win against him.

The exile closed his eyes focused. He listened, even as his body was pelted with destructive magic and the stone blade in which he stood fell through the air constantly, he listened to the sounds around him, until finally, he heard it.

Ripple.

A portal opened behind him. Opening his eyes and without moving from his spot, he swung his fist back. He swung it with such force that it broke through the air, the might of the impact reaching Alastor even at a distance and sending him flying off the platform, though he soon returned using his portals. Pulling himself together after receiving such a blow, the warlord decided to try attacking Altair once more.

Ripple.

This time the portal opened in front of him, and the exile's left fist shot forward, the blow being carried forward by the sheer force with which it impacted the air and colliding with the warlord soon after, cancelling his attack and sending him back once again. The next time the warlord landed, he decided to take a different approach, and began traveling through the platform very quickly, exiting a portal one moment and entering another the next. Altair continued using his air-shattering strikes to try to bring Alastor down, but though the warlord was no longer attacking him, he was in turn being too swift in his movement, managing to avoid his brother's wrath until finally, he decided to attack.

Ripple.

Right behind him. There was barely any time. But that was still more than nothing, and so, immediately, Altair brought his fists together with great force, causing a shockwave around him that sent Alastor back yet again. Enraged, the warlord began charging straight at the exile, racing through the stone platform, throwing any fancy strategies he still had to the wind, or so it seemed. Altair saw this and swung his fist forward once again. But as soon as he did so, Alastor opened a portal in front of himself, and exited through another that was further forward, right next to Altair. The exile did not have enough time to react this time and so, he was unable to defend himself as Alastor slashed across his chest vertically this time, leaving a wound that intersected with the first.

Altair was, however, able to retaliate. He took hold of Alastor's horns and swiftly tore them off his head, causing a scream of pain that was short-lived, as immediately afterwards the exile brought his fist against the warlord's head, shattering his helmet for good. The warlord retreated into a portal and appeared behind Altair, attempting to slash at him once more, but the exile noticed, immediately turning around, kicking his blade away and then gripping the warlord's head with his hand, raising him above the stone platform. The warlord now hung from Altair's grip, and the exile, taking advantage of this, squeezed, putting more and more pressure on his skull, evidently intending to end his brother at last in a gory mess, but not without causing him a great deal of pain first, the burning flames around his fist only serving to further the agony. And all that Alastor managed to do, it seemed, was bring up his hands and wrap them around his brother's arm in what appeared to be a vain gesture at trying to save himself.

"Pathetic." Altair spat.

It was then that he realized Alastor wasn't trying to overpower him.

He realized this because an explosion of darkness separated his arm from the rest of his body, causing him to scream in rage and agony and also to release the warlord, who fell to the ground. Before either of them could do anything else, the platform fell to the ground at last, throwing them both off balance and raising an enormous curtain of dust over the surrounding terrain.

When the dust settled, the demon brothers stood before each other once again. Alastor had his horns torn off his head and sustained grievous injuries, both external and internal, and his armor had been completely destroyed by that point. Altair, on the other hand, had lost an arm and a wing and some damage from Alastor's constant attacks. But despite his handicaps, the latter, full of anger, was the first to charge, this time using his fire column to propel himself forward towards Alastor. However, the warlord was not about to let this happen. He called upon his powers once again, and an enormous black thunder descended from the skies, impacting the exile and stopping him in his tracks, though it did not kill him, and he soon erected a shield of flames around himself before continuing his relentless charge. Alastor began swinging his blade around, every motion creating a crescent slash of darkness that headed straight towards his brother, but every such attack was met with failure as they all crashed helplessly against the shield of searing flames, which burned brightly in spite of his efforts.

Eventually, the warlord settled for a dangerous gambit.

He focused all of his power on his blade, which glowed black as it sucked in all the light surrounding him, and then charged towards Altair as well. When the two were about to meet, he swung his blade, which soon clashed against the shield of flames. A battle of wills all over again.

But finally, Altair's shield gave way to Alastor's blade, and the warlord made a third gash across his chest before, finally, driving his blade forward to impale his brother. The exile did nothing to avoid this fate, and the sword penetrated him, piercing his heart and filling his body with the dark destruction that the blade bore with it. And even then, he did not die, not yet. Instead, he walked towards his brother, driving the blade deeper and deeper as he did so.

"Brother..." Altair said with a grin.

Alastor did not respond. He merely stood there.

This soon proved to be a bad decision.

With an unexpected swiftness, Altair tore off his own horn and stabbed the warlord with it. Alastor, while wounded, was also surprised. He had not expected him to do that, but then, he figured it was not too important. If he hadn't died from all his previous wounds, he would certainly not die from that, and surely, this was just Altair's last curse before dying. He-

His train of thought was interrupted when he felt himself be stabbed with the horn again.

And again.

And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again...

Eventually, the two demons, devoid of all strength, fell to the ground, away from each other and onto the fallen stone blade. The last thing Alastor saw before his consciousness faded were the last lights of the twilight sky dying down as darkness rose to reign over all.

---

"Me, a warrior? Good Lucifer, no! Too dangerous. Me, I'm a gravedigger. I take corpses and bury them somewhere important and get paid for it. It doesn't seem very convenient at first since most people eat their dead or burn them, but it has worked so far." L'Enfer chatted as he walked, trailing behind the Helicorn, which carried the wounded demon with it.

"Well, you will bury corpses no more." Alastor suddenly proclaimed, causing L'Enfer to stop and look at him.

"Pardon me?" He asked, confused.

"You saved the Black Lord's life. It is only fair that I repay you. You're coming back to my kingdom with me." The wounded demon explained.

L'Enfer said nothing, but he weighed his options and figured that going along with him was better than continuing to dig graves for a meager living in an accursed town in the middle of nowhere that couldn't even defend itself from the monsters lurking nearby and so, he decided to follow Alastor, wherever he was going. There was silence for several moments afterwards.

"So, does the creature have a name?" L'Enfer asked at last to break the silence.

Alastor thought for several moments. He had managed to earn the creature's respect and loyalty, but he had been so concentrated in his journey that he had forgotten to give it a name. But now, he had all the time in the world.

"Kiamat." The wounded demon said at last. The Helicorn could not understand words, no, but it could look deep into the demon's mind and understand the meaning of the name that was given to it. And upon seeing it, the creature neighed with approval.

And so the three went back. Back home, at last. The three of them left that cursed place behind, and the ruins of the giant warrior could be seen burning brightly far behind, the shattered mountain serving as a gravestone for his brother, a gravestone of flames. There, in that day, two unyielding warriors had fallen.

---

Another scroll found its way to Alastor's feet, and once again the Demon Lord looked down at it, reading what was written within.

IS IT OUR BROTHER?

The Demon Lord, once again, did not respond. He simply continued to look down there, at the one thing that was natural amidst all of the machinery that covered the underground cavern almost entirely. He looked down there, at his reflection, unspeaking. One day of mourning. Surely no one could blame him for that. One day of remembering the things he had done to get where he was now.

He took a small stone and threw it. His reflection was instantly distorted.

Ripple.

Ripple.

Ripple.

I can sleep now.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Fuck that's long, Zark.

I'll read it shortly.

[Nationstatelandsville]

There's no fucking way I'm quoting that to write a witty retort.

I have my limits.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Fuck that's long, Zark.

I'll read it shortly.

Yes, I know.

I didn't expect it to turn out to be that long myself.

Hell, since it was so close already (-50), I went ahead and made it exactly 7000 words.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Fuck that's long, Zark.

I'll read it shortly.

Yes, I know.

I didn't expect it to turn out to be that long myself.

Hell, since it was so close already (-50), I went ahead and made it exactly 7000 words.

The last 50 words are just screaming.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Yes, I know.

I didn't expect it to turn out to be that long myself.

Hell, since it was so close already (-50), I went ahead and made it exactly 7000 words.

The last 50 words are just screaming.

My head's, yes.

[Constaniana]

I read up to the bit with the Hellicorn, then skimmed through a bit of the bro fight, before simply giving up.

[Nationstatelandsville]

I read up to the bit with the Hellicorn, then skimmed through a bit of the bro fight, before simply giving up.

This oneshot is too violent for Const's pure Mormon sensibilities.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

I read up to the bit with the Hellicorn, then skimmed through a bit of the bro fight, before simply giving up.

I don't blame you.