The Baron’s Prize

By SCBM

Based off Doom Eternal © Bethesda Studios

Cover art by Loy Baldon:
https://www.artstation.com/karlbaldon

Thank you to my patrons for supporting me: https://www.patreon.com/scbm

For more of my works check out my website:

https://scbmstories.com

-xXx-

This wasn’t a war.

Those four words looped through her mind as she placed her hands on the rail guard, turning her snout up at the vista. The continent sprawled like a sea of dirt and ash in all the cardinal directions, broken up by blocky protrusions that had once been settlements. These ruins curved northward like veins, terminating at a chain of crooked mountaintops that brought forth recollections of her birthplace, their jagged shapes rising up into the sky like the grasping energies of sacrificed souls.

A distasteful aura radiated from the land, a swirling crimson fog hanging thick upon the air. It oozed from the contusions that pulled apart the ruins in clefts of pink flesh, turning what had once been stretches of flora and buildings into engorged pustules bristling with wriggling appendages.

These swaths of corruption were fleeting. small enough to be covered by her hand, but the gluttony of Hell was unending, and every mote of dust would be consumed in time. Hell didn’t even need to deploy its legions, the planet would be laid to waste through no other cost but time.

How trite of us.

The natives of this planet – this Earth – were coincidentally susceptible to the influence of Sin, leading further credence to those four words looping through her mind like a bad thought. Within two weeks of invasion, most of the major indigenous landmarks had been destroyed. Within a month, and entire countries had been ceded to Hell’s armies, and any resistance had been reduced to pitiful squabbles lacking meaningful difficulty.

“One would think promises from the Gods would hold the most merit,” she muttered aloud. “but it seems even the ascendent can be audacious. Wouldn’t you agree, priest?”

She had heard his footsteps before he’d even entered the antechamber, his shoeless feet slapping against the stairs with a wet quality she found wholly disturbing. She turned from the railing, seeing a scrawny figure pass through the archway on the far side of the room. He was cloaked in a dark robe gilded with yellow trimmings, his beady face obscured behind a cowl. Only his forearms and feet were exposed, and branded upon his pale skin were several runes and symbols of the Dark Lord, each curve and trace glowing with yellow energy.

Those runes gave him some meek measure of leadership and power among the other corrupted humans in her charge, but his authority dwindled in the face of her own, mouthpiece and lesser creature that he was.

“You are right of course, my Baroness,” he replied, his high-pitched tone torturing her ear-holes. “Every mortal and immortal alike lives only for itself. E-Except you, of course, you deserve better than their falsities.”

“A world to conquer, with armies millions strong,” she quoted, gesturing behind her with a red arm. “A gift to expand your dominion – those were the precise words. Yet this city was halfway abandoned by the time the portals opened. A pack of mentally-impaired cacodemons could have taken care of this place, for all the ‘conquering’ that was ‘gifted’ to me.”

“Your campaign has not been without its battles,” the priest pointed out, raising a crooked finger. “The Rallypoint to the north yet stands.”

Her nostrils flared. The Rallypoint was a human fortress hugging the coastline, a decrepit attempt by the natives to hold claim to their world, it had played a key part in harbouring the natives when Hell arrived at the city outskirts. She had seen it as an annoyance at first, but over time, the Rallypoint had stood fast against her advances, even her saboteurs had failed to penetrate the minds of its denizens. Attacking it directly was folly, those giant guns lining the battlements obliterating anything that walked or flew too close. Such stalwart defences had inspired caution among the demonic. Even the wild packs of imps gave the fortress a wide berth.

“A two-month-long siege does not constitute battle, you imbecile,” she snarled. “A Titan would make quick work of those cretins, but it seems my wait for reinforcement is eternal, and I must resort to letting starvation do my fights for me.”

“The Lord only spares the great Ancients for more… significant targets,” the priest reminded, bowing his head when she glared at him. “N-Not to imply your goals are not lucrative, my Baroness. Your grip on this territory is fierce, the cowards hiding behind those walls are proof enough. In addition, the amount of souls you’ve offered is only surpassed by the magnitude of your-”

“Oh, be silent you ministrating monkey.”

“S-Sorry, your excellence, sorry...”

The priest gulped as she turned away, rolling her eyes in the process. He wasn’t really a priest, just another acolyte with more rituals under his belt than the average corrupted mortal. She just liked to call him that to try and goad him on, always lacing the word with a hint of sarcasm, but he never wavered in being a kiss-ass.

“Did I ever tell you of my exploits in the Burning Peaks?” she asked, not bothering to wait for his answer. “My first time leading a force was there. I took a hundred Barons into the crags, tearing apart whatever moved. The ravines were so tight that the gore piled up to our knees. Blood and ash paved our path and it was glorious.”

She licked her tusks, almost moaning that last part out.

“Where I come from, battles went unending, and all one sees is death. Now what do I see?” she asked, her mood flipping as she raised her arms. “Milquetoasts. Why we ever considered this planet a conquest is beyond me. More bountiful souls could have been found elsewhere.”

“The Maykyrs offering this planet was a bargain, the quality of human souls had little to do with it,” the priest corrected, backing away when she growled down at him.

“Do not speak the name of those condescending cabbages, they have made nothing,” she snapped, eyeing the horizon once more. “Oh, but their planet, on the other hand… Imagine the energy that could be had if we conquered lands cultivated by Gods. The thought alone is positively delicious…”

A flock of flying imps soared before her balcony from left to right, their bat-like wings folding out to catch on the gale, quickly distancing into little dots.

“Alas, I must content myself with naught but this stalemate,” she grumbled, leaning her weight on the railing. “A single stronghold that is too small to be considered a threat to warrant a Titan, but large enough to deter my numbskulled legions.”

“Perhaps the news I bring may lighten your… surly, mood?” the priest suggested, the sound of his slapping feet growing louder as he drew deeper into the chamber.

“I assumed you didn’t climb all those steps just to prester me,” she muttered. “Out with it, priest.”

“As you requested, we’ve been monitoring the human channels for messages, and our saboteurs have intercepted a transmission,” he explained.

“Tell me why some errant radio signal is worth disturbing my thoughts, again?”

“Well, we are not quite sure what the contents of the package are – yet – we are confident its recipient was someone within the Rallypoint.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it was for the fortress, you fool, where else would a message go to out here?”

“F-Forgive me, Baroness, my lowly assessments are not worth your ear…”

“Who sent this transmission? Do you at least know that much?”

“You can see for yourself, esteemed Baroness,” the priest said, daring to cross the chamber. He seemed to shrink away from her the closer he came to the balcony, her presence disturbing his mortal mind on some base level. The feeling was mutual.

“We should be able to see them. Right… about…. eh… any moment now…”

He glanced worriedly up at her, wincing away when he saw her rapidly draining temper. She was about to ask what he meant by ‘them’ when the priest raised his calloused hand.

“There! Right there!”

She followed his finger, the digit pointing westward, where the scorched land gave way to ocean, the shimmering water reflecting the sullied shades of the sky. Through the swirling fog at the limits of her vision, three specks appeared, coasting along just above the sea.

As they watched, she began to pick out details. Their flanks were adorned with stubby wings, and their were windows on the noses. Those were aircraft, bombers or maybe transports judging by their bulky shape. The aircraft weren’t heading towards her cathedral, but their destination was obvious enough.

“So the human bastion calls for aid?” she mused, folding her arms. “That is far too few ships to sustain an evacuation, they must be carrying troops.”

“A brilliant assessment, my Baron! Those transports may be carrying a whole section of armed soldiers.”

“I am almost tempted to let them pass,” she said, tracking the craft as they banked, flying adjacent to the coastline. “A few squads of fresh souls would provide some modicum of entertainment.”

“Perhaps the Baroness… could?” the priest asked, wringing his hands together.

“And let them strengthen the Rallypoint’s defences?” she countered. “Who asked you for suggestions, priest?”

“A thousand pardons, my Baron…”

“Explain to me now why I shouldn’t slay you for treason,” she stated, fixing him with a cold glare. “One would think you still harbour care for your former kin, asking your Baroness to show them mercy…”

“M-My Baroness, I serve only to please you!” the priest stammered, bowing his head until it practically hit the floor. “You misunderstand! O-Or rather, th-the choice of my words was foolish of me! I only mean to say that, if you wish to relive your glory days of the Peaks, maybe allowing the humans a small semblance of hope could be the first step on that road...”

She looked over the vista and thought about it. “Interesting hypothesis. Go on.”

“A batch of reinforcements could tip the scales of this stalemate,” he continued. “They wouldn’t ask for assistance if they didn’t plan on acting upon it. You may get your battles yet if this situation bears fruit.”

“Intentionally put my enemies in a stronger position, as a means to break up the norm?” she said. “That is one of your more… interesting ideas, I’ll grant you that.”

She didn’t think a single section of soldiers was much of a contention, but she was thinking from Hell’s perspective. For the rebels, that might as well be a whole other army coming to help. She couldn’t afford to let her visions of the past lead to complacency, however, who knew what other cargo those transports carried?

“Your suggestion pleases me,” she eventually conceded. “I will let those transports go to their little fort.”

“Of course, Baroness, I will-”

“Except one,” she interjected. “Order a pack of cacodemons to tear one asunder, I don’t care which, but the other transports are to be left untouched. Tell them I will personally rip out their eyes out if they fail to do so.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” The priest bowed repeatedly as she listed off her orders. When he didn’t dismiss himself, she thrust an arm at the staircase, and he slinked off without a word, vanishing through the arch.

She heaved a sigh of priest-free air, scratching at a horn as she watched the aircraft soar north. It wasn’t long before a series of shapes rose from the base of her cathedral, the rotund bodies of her cacodemons taking flight, ten or so of them beelining for the coast.

She was too far away to witness the finer details of the interception, but a few minutes later, and one of the aircraft was arching down towards the ground, the cacodemons following the smoking fuselage like vultures finishing off a dying animal. As requested, the other two ships were allowed to leave unmolested, disappearing over the hills and vanishing from sight. Destroying all three would have been savagely easy for her flying demons, those transports didn’t even have mounted guns to defend themselves.

As she’d posited, this wasn’t a war. It was a slaughter, and just where was the nuance in that?

-xXx-

Cold wind rushed against his black combat armour as Andreas emerged onto the deck, tugging his helmet beneath his arm as he descended the gantry. Dozens of flight personnel dashed by, their shouts distorted by the sound of spooling engines and warning sirens.

Stencilled beneath his boots was a giant logo, the symbol emblazoned at the forefront of the steel runway. Three bars formed a wall around a globe of Earth, the letters ARC written beneath it. The ARC was the first – and only – line of defence against the demonic invasion of Earth, and the carrier acted as the mobile command centre for the entire Coalition.

The fleet had been patrolling the North Atlantic since its inception, searching for key opportunities to strike back at Hell’s forces. His stomach just couldn’t tolerate the constant rocking, and he couldn’t wait to be back on dry land despite the demons making it their new playground.

He proceeded over a pair of painted flight lanes, arriving at the runway’s flank. About a dozen identical dropships stretched down the flight deck, their aerodynamic hulls pockmarked with exhaust vents and thrusters, their matte grey paint jobs reflecting the morning light. Pilots in jumpsuits and matching flight helmets could be seen inside the bubble-shaped canopies, giving thumbs-ups to the engineers working the last-minute flight checks.

He made for the closest dropship along, the thrusters on the twin nozzles flaring to life, Andreas wincing at the piercing noise as he pulled on his helmet. It connected to the collar of his chestpiece with a pneumatic hiss, creating an airtight seal, his breath fogging up his visor as it automatically dimmed like a pair of transition glasses. A heads-up display flickered on in the corners of his vision, graphics like his ammunition counter and vital signs glowing in shades of blue. Gear like this cost more than most marines would make in a lifetime, but that wasn’t just because of the fancy HUD and accompanying pressure suit.

“All set in there, Eva?” Andreas asked, rapping the top of his helmet with a fist.

“Stop hitting me you bozo,” a synthetic, but distinctly female voice replied inside his helmet. “I may be surrounded by layers of Kevlar and synthetic plating, but my lattice still responds to kinetic energy.”

ARC had uploaded Eva into his armoured suit, the AI serving as a mouthpiece for the higher-ups and as his personal combat assistant. Most commissioned marines in the Coalition had some sort of helper on-call, be that a real person or otherwise, and Eva was running across several platforms aside from Andreas’, her main power core situated somewhere on the lower deck of the carrier.

He moved round to the rear of the dropship, stepping onto the lowered ramp. Lining either side of the cramped interior were rows of crash couches, all save for one occupied by his fellow marines, though their armour was painted over in the standard green. The cargo bay was separated from the cockpit by a small archway, the pilot peeking through to give him a thumbs-up.

“The section’s all ready, sir,” the pilot said, his voice coming through the speakers in his helmet, Eva doing him the courtesy of patching him into the local channel. “Just say the word.”

Andreas signalled back to the pilot, and the ramp began to close, the whine of hydraulics filling the cabin. The spooling engines rumbled the grating beneath his feet, Andreas moving down the aisle towards the free seat.

“Seargent,” one of the marines greeted, offering a prim salute, the rest of the seven men inside following suit.

“Time for formalities has passed, boys,” Andreas replied, waving for them to be at ease. “It’s Hell on Earth out there, hope you brought enough ammo.”

He planted himself in the crash couch, placing his pack and weapon into the slots beside the chair, reaching up to secure the harness over his chest. As soon as he was strapped in, he felt the aircraft roll forward, pitching to the side as the pilot lined them up with the runway.

“This is a bad plan,” Eva chimed. “The demonic presence on the Spanish coast is at level four going on five. Approaching via boat would be a far safer option.”

“All part of the job description,” Andreas replied, drumming his fingers against the harness.

“Considering you were a security guard when this all started, I doubt that ‘flying through demon-infested skies with volatile Argent cells in the hold,’ was in your job description.”

“Security officer,” Andreas corrected. “And they’re not volatile, those cases are indestructible.”

“Clearly you haven’t been to Mars in a while. Some of those bases were completely vapourised.”

He lurched as the dropship took off, reaching a hundred kilometres an hour in an instant and beginning a climb. He knew there were pistons built into the runway that would snap forward once the aircraft was at full throttle, sort of like a giant spring-loader built for planes. His left side crushed into his harness, the pressure relenting once the aircraft began to level out.

Through the portholes, he could see they were banking, Andreas looking out to see a great ocean spanning the world below. There were other ships dotting the water, curdles of foam forming arrowheads in their wake. The flotilla was comprised of hundreds of naval craft of every type, from patrol boats to battleships, forming a protective cordon around the carrier. The mobile command centre was giant compared to the rest of the vessels, almost a kilometre long and a hundred meters wide, its sleek hull bristling with guns and communication equipment, the conning tower towards the rear serving as the main bridge, the runway jutting out from below it like a metal maw.

The pilot turned them about, the groaning of metal subsiding as they closed ranks with two other dropships, forming a line. There was a series of comms checks on the local channel as the rest of the section reported in, Andreas replying when it was his turn. Once the pilots had matched speeds, the aircraft turned in synchronicity towards the east, shedding altitude and coming close enough to the ocean that he could make out the waves. Once out of the protection of the ships, they didn’t dare fly much higher, as the mist rising off the water would provide cover for their approach, and it had been known that demons liked to use the cloud layers to set up ambushes.

“The admiral has assigned a squadron of fighters to escort,” Eva said, pausing before continuing. “Should be able to see them off the portside.”

For a moment all he saw was mist, and then a shape began to emerge, the profile of a fighter jet unmistakable. Its jet-black wings were inverted, angled towards the cockpit rather than away like most traditional jets, racks of red-nosed missiles mounted along the hardpoints. Its single thruster projected a cone of blue afterburner, easily outpacing the slower, larger dropships.

The fighter pilot tilted his wings in greeting before soaring up and out of view. A compliment of supersonic jets should put the antsy AI at ease, Andreas thought.

Ten minutes of flying over the ocean passed before there were details on the horizon, Andreas straining out of his seat to look through the cockpit canopy. The sea crashed into a coastline, giving way first to shallow tidepools, then to soil and cliffs. Andreas didn’t find living on a boat all that appealing, but seeing the state of the land, it may as well be paradise in comparison.

He could remember a time where Earth was lush with the colour green, complimented by the azure shade of a bright sky. This was no longer the case. Dirt had turned to sullied ash, the remnants of sprawling woodlands reduced to skeletal husks, jutting out of the ground like tombstones. Valleys ran through these ashlands, and while the ocean was still home to water, these ravines now sported cesspools of lava, bubbling with yellow goop that could be seen even from here. These magma tides burned against the shore, forming ovals of obsidian that scabbed the ocean’s edges.

The closer they flew to the shore, the more the skies took on a more sinister appearance, the clouds choked with soot, flanked by crimson auroras. Even the turbulence had picked up, Andreas unable to help but think even the air itself had been smothered by Hell.

There was little chatter on the comm channel, even less so on the dropship, but who could blame them? Humans had taken Mother Earth for granted, and seeing it become warped inspired a dread that went beyond fear. It wasn’t all doom and gloom, however. Far in the distance, the chains of mountains still stood proud, their sloped surfaces yet unblemished. At one point he’d heard from a scientist that ten percent of the world’s landmass had been consumed in hellfire, and at the current rate the world would be swallowed up within a year, maybe two if mankind held on for that long.

The dropships shifted again, flying over the shore as they shed some velocity, and pilot’s voice crackling in through the intercom.

“Landing clearance received from control,” he said. “ETA ten-”

The ship reeled, Andreas gripping his harness tight as the aircraft rolled, putting him face-down in relation to the Earth. The lights in the bay flickered, turning from white to yellow as they bathed the ship in harsh flashes.

The other marines spat and cursed as they were rocked in their seats, the aircraft correcting after a second, the men looking to Andreas and the cockpit in alarm.

“What the fuck was that?” Andreas demanded, directing his attention to the pilot.

“We’ve been hit!” the pilot replied, shouting over his blaring instruments. “Engine power’s going critical!”

The portholes on the near side had blacked out, a screen of smoke obscuring the view. The pilot suddenly looked up through the canopy, seeing something that Andreas couldn’t from this angle. Spitting a string of curses, the pilot gripped the flightstick and turned the nose of the dropship down, and Andreas could have sworn he heard something speed over the ceiling, close enough that he could sense its presence.

As he looked out the far side window, he saw a round shape flit through the air, turning like a gyroscope to reveal a face. A wide mouth with too many teeth stretched in a grim approximation of a smile, a solitary eye jutting over its upper lip. Dangling from its ball-like body were tentacles, or maybe those were limbs, the extremities folding back over its flank as the creature began to come back for another pass, using seemingly no visible form of propulsion.

The ship lurched again, Andreas feeling the craft sink as something landed on top of it, presumably another of the cacodemons. They often moved around in packs ranging from three to ten.

“Where are those damn fighters?” Andreas asked nobody in particular, his toes curling in his boots. He hated not being able to do something, the feeling of being powerless making his skin crawl. He couldn’t even fight back, the dropship possessed no armaments of its own save for a thirty-mil on the nose, and aiming at these flying demons would be impossible unless they flew straight in front of them.

He heard something he could only describe as chewing, metal rending somewhere overhead, followed a distinct crunching sound. The commlink was full of panicked calls for a status report, but what could Andreas say that wasn’t immediately obvious?

“I’m losing power,” the pilot muttered over the channel.. “I can’t keep her steady. Brace yourselves marines!”

They were going down, the right half of the dropship listing , the pilot pulling his stick far to the left to compensate. The electronics were still functional, the pilot flipping at the overhead switches, the roar of the thrusters filtering through his helmet. He must be trying to slow them down as much as possible.

“We got parachutes on this thing?” one of the marines asked.

“Wouldn’t matter at this height!” another replied. “You’d splat like a damn pancake, assuming those things don’t eat you first!”

“I’d take my chances!” the first replied, his voice wavering on the edge of panic. Andreas needed to reassure them, fast.

“Stow it, marines!” Andreas ordered. “You’ve been in worse situations than this. Our pilot’s got us, he’s trained for this sort of thing.”

He was trying to sound nonchalant, but he was just as terrified as they were. The ship was falling apart, and the incessant chewing of metal was a chilling reminder of what exactly they were up against if they managed to survive a landing.

The rumbling of the ship took on a new octave as the pilot engaged all the thrusters, Andreas fighting the g-forces to peer through the canopy. The nose was aimed square at the shoreline below, the pilot remaining remarkably still in his seat as the ground came rushing up towards the canopy. The chances of living through a hard landing were slim for the marines, but the cockpit would be taking the full brunt of the impact. The pilot was a braver man than most.

“I knew this was a bad idea!” Eva said for the first time in minutes. Although she was made of electronics and code, she seemed as distraught as the marines were.

The world shook as they plummeted to the ground, the dropship bouncing once before ploughing nose-first into the sand. The bay seemed to explode, bits of metal and combat gear flying through the air as the crash dislodged their cargo.

Andreas saw something dark flying towards his face, and then a pain like no other struck him across his visor, and then his world shrivelled into darkness.

-xXx-

Andreas crawled back into consciousness, every muscle in his body burning with pain. He tried to move, but something was pressing into his chest, pinning him in place. His feet were cold, but everything else was burning up. Where was he?

His ears were ringing, but behind the white noise rose the cracking echo of a gunshot, the sound spurring him into blinking his vision clear. Had he been in a warzone? As he took in his surroundings, the memories came flooding back.

The dropship was sitting on a slant, and the deck was obscured behind a murky layer of water, warning lights bathing the crashed ship in yellow instances. The nose of the ship had shattered, the slumped figure of the pilot showered in a squashed box of broken metal and glass. Andreas looked away from the grisly scene, only to look upon another. In the crash couch beside him was a marine with a shard of glass hilted through his helmet, its trajectory suggesting it had come from the porthole opposite them. If that had flown few inches to the right, and Andreas wouldn’t have woken up.

Gritting his teeth, he threw the harness off his chest, finding the mechanism had jammed in place. He tried again, the armour on his biceps creaking, and the latches snapped away, Andreas cradling his shoulder in a hand as he reached up with the other to slap his helmet.

“Eva! You still kicking in there?”

“Stop hitting me, and hit the deck, now!”

Without missing a beat, Andreas threw himself to the ground, water splashing against his visor. No sooner had he done that, did a swelling heat pass over his flank, and his seat became torched in flames.

Glancing up, he saw that the ramp to the bay was open, and one of the cacodemons was plugging the exit, the creature framed by a hellish light. Its fat body was too big to squeeze through, but that didn’t stop it from ramming against the aircraft like a hound trying to break into a chicken pen.

The demon closed its giant maw as thought it was sucking in a breath, Andreas shooting to his feet. He hauled himself back towards his combusted crash couch, reaching for the footrest. Fortunately, his plasma rifle had remained secured during the impact, Andreas sliding it out of the holster. He brought the bulky weapon to his cheek, lining up the quad-barrels with the demon, its one eye going wide in surprise.

He pulled the trigger, filling the aisle with a short burst of energy cells, the stream of bolts melting into his target’s face. The breath broiling in the demon’s throat bubbled out as a wet gurgle, licks of flames escaping its chapped lips, its ability to float in the air failing as its face slagged, dropping to the ground with a distinct splashing sound.

Andreas rushed down the bay, the air above the barrel of his rifle shimmering with waste heat. He noted that not all the crash couches were occupied by his fallen comrades. Some of them must have survived the crash, or had been thrown clear…

He swung his rifle round as he emerged into the daylight, finding himself upon a beach, the dropship cratered near the tideline coming up from the right. One of the wings had been severed, jutting from the sand a short distance away, the engine tipping it trailing smoke. Beyond it, the shore gave way to towering rocks, ruined paths trailing up towards the beginnings of an urban sprawl.

The dropship had left a blazing trail in its wake, a trench the length of a basketball court cutting through the sand, the extreme friction forming pockets of glass. There was a figure stood at the end of the trench, it was one of the marines, dumping a cone of buckshot into a nearby cacodemon, priming his pump action in quick succession as the demon slowly sunk to the ground with each echoing blast.

Another of the creatures floated from behind the discarded wing, completely silent as it soared up on the marine’s flank, Andreas waving an arm to get his attention.

“Behind you!” he called, the marine glancing over at him before whipping around, but it was too late. The cacodemon opened its mouth wide, and swallowed the man up from above. Its jaws snapped shut over his hips, the creature twisting its head with a wet crunch, the severed legs falling to the sand as the demon gulped audibly.

Andreas dashed out onto the sand, aiming his plasma cannon at the demon. Firing from the hip, he put the demon down with an automatic burst, the demon still munching on the marine even as the plasma bolts melted its hide.

“Three o’clock,” Eva chimed.

He heard a high-pitched gurgle, turning up to see yet another demon descending on him from above. It splattered to the ground like a dropped melon after Andreas dumped the rest of his magazine into it.

“Good call, Eva,” he muttered, sliding the spent power cell out of the loader, letting it land with a splash of sand.

“Save for thanks for after you deal with them.”

It took him a second to see what she meant. Another pair of cacodemons were soaring overhead like birds of prey, gliding across the water towards the beach, solitary eyes fixed upon him. Andreas fished inside his rigging for a fresh cell, slamming it into the receiver, the demons splaying their jaws as they closed in.

As he took a knee, applying pressure on the trigger, there was a sound like that of a distant buzzsaw. Through the swirling mist rising off the sea came an unbroken stream of tracer rounds, catching the demons in its arch. One of the creatures was pasted, the second soon following suit, the creatures turning into a screen of red mist hanging upon the air before disintegrating.

Andreas fought the instinct to duck as the stream arched overhead, the excess rounds chipping away at the cliffs behind him. As the loud burst of gunfire settled, Andreas glanced up to see one of the fighter jets doing a low pass, banking over the length of the beach as it turned about, the scream of its engines muffled by his helmet.

“Better late than never, boys,” Andreas said, raising a hand at the craft as it departed, climbing back into the cloud layer.

Andreas did a full spin, making sure the area was clear, finally able to take in his surroundings without monsters to worry about. The crash site was a bloodbath. What few marines that had stumbled out of the dropship had met a bloody end to the cacodemons, but they had given Hell a run for their money. Carpets of dead creatures lined the beach, the green paint of marine armour visible in the pools of nearby viscera.

He called for a sound off on the squad channel, not really sure what he was hoping for but doing it anyway. There was no response. He was all that was left.

“Fuck, if only I’d been faster,” Andreas mumbled, closing his eyes and exhaling.

“You were hit in the head by a twelve-pound bar of steel,” Eva informed him. “What more could you have done?”

Andreas chewed his lip, supposing there was no time for dwelling. He looked over the wreckage of the dropship, the ruined craft plumed with a thick column of smoke. He had to distance himself from the crash site as soon as possible, there would be more than just cacodemons swarming this place in time…

“Eva, get in contact with the rest of the section,” Andreas said as he stumbled back towards the wreckage. “See if anyone else is alive.”

While every second spent here brought more risk, he needed all the supplies he could get, Andreas kicking the cacodemon plugging the ramp aside as he returned to the bay. His pack had survived the crash, fortunately, and he clipped the straps to his combat armour, replacing the empty pocket on his chest rig with a fresh plasma cell. He moved over to the other crash couches, looting the gear of his fellow marines for ammo, food, anything useful. It was a morbid task, but dead men didn’t need their gear anymore.

“Check the lower compartments,” Eva advised. “The cargo should still be intact. This entire beach would be a crater right now if it wasn’t.”

Andreas knelt in the aisle, pushing his gloved fingers below a latch in the floor, the panel sliding open. Three, footlocker-shaped capsules sat inside the hidden compartment, each one marked with ARC’s logo.

The capsules were built from two identical halves, Andreas reaching down to give the nearest one a twist, activating the automatic release. The device parted to reveal a pair of mechanical grippers, and clutched in their metal fingers was a small glass ball. The inside of it was writhed in an unnatural cloak of red mist, the casing occupied by a small shard, the black shape contrasting against the bright flames that seemed to emanate from it.

“I ever tell you these things look like Eyes of Sauron to me?” Andreas muttered as he opened the other two capsules, each one housing a similar sphere to the first, the orbs bathing the dropship in crimson light.

“Many times,” Eva replied. “Well?” she added, seeming to notice his hesitation. “Crash or not, the safety of the cargo remains our top priority, Seargent.”

“I can’t carry three containment units all by myself,” he pointed out.

“Then don’t, just take the cells. Honestly, what would you do without me?”

“Never touched one with my bare hand before,” Andreas admitted, ignoring the comment. “Please don’t tell me I’m going to grow a pair of horns or anything.”

“Argent energy emits nominal levels of unholy malice, and is barely even warm while inside its containment unit,” Eva advised. “It’s quite safe to handle.”

“’Nominal levels of unholy malice’,” Andreas grumbled, lifting the first glass orb, the thing sitting comfortably in his palm. He ran a thumb over the case, his padded glove scraping the glass. As Eva had said, the sphere was paradoxically cool despite what his eyes were seeing, its weight unsubstantial. He stuffed the orb into his pack, then did the same with the other two.

“I know I said it was safe, but try not to fall on them or get shot from now on, Seargent,” Eva advised. “The containers are rather brittle, and susceptible to strong impacts. A little like myself, actually.”

“Don’t get hit while holding the Eyes, I got it,” Andreas said, turning back to the ramp. “What’s the status on the rest of the section?”

“The other teams encountered no resistance from the demonic,” Eva explained. “Their ships are inbound on the Rallypoint. Sending out an SOS now.”

“Don’t bother,” Andreas replied. “A ping will just drag more attention to us, and rescue’ll just get brought down anyway. Which way’s the Rallypoint?”

“Bearing thirty degrees. Was a two day walk through heavily infested grounds part of the job description as well?”

“It is now,” Andreas replied.

“Proceed up those hills to the left,” Eva said after a dramatic sigh, always annoyed by his lack of apprehension. “the climb will be easier from there.”

Before Andreas departed, he hesitated, turning back for the marines. It was cruel to leave them for the demons, but he had no choice. Still, there was one thing he could do for them at least.

He went back and grabbed each man’s dog tags, severing their chains with his serrated knife, including the pilot’s. With all seven in hand, he stuffed them inside his already laden pack, then set off towards the cliffs.

-xXx-

Andreas paused to catch his breath, the path wending up the rocks proving far longer than what it had looked like from the shore, memories of boot camp flashing through his mind. When he finally reached the summit, there was a lookout point built into the cliff face, a platform raised on stilts still standing despite it all, Andreas moving over to peer down the sheer drop.

Some fifty meters below was the smouldering crash site, still trailing smoke from its ruined fuselage. Only twenty minutes had passed since he’d left the wreckage, but dozens more of the demonic had already moved in to investigate. He could see more cacodemons, but there were also tiny humanoid figures, resting on their knees as they feasted on the fallen marines, Andreas grimacing at the sight. It was a terrible end for his fellow soldiers, but with no way to extract the bodies, there was nothing he could do about it.

He stepped away from the lookout, surveying the path ahead. To his immediate north, rock and earth gave way to concrete and glass, the beginning of an urban sprawl rising up before him. The coastal apartment complexes would have cost a fortune not long ago, but now they were weathered by war, their cracked facades plagued by corruption, winding tentacles and crimson growths trailing up the walls like vine creepers.

As Andreas moved out onto the gridlocked streets, he saw not everything had been infested by the demons, but what Hell had left untouched had been obliterated, entire housing blocks reduced to a few scant pockets of crumbling walls.

Hellfire provided an unpleasant backdrop to it all, an aura of red with seemingly no source shimmering off the horizon, his eyes watering if he looked up for too long.

“This place was hit hard,” Andreas mused as he slid over the hood of a wrecked car. The silence was uneasy and he felt the need to break it.

“Spain got off lightly, as morbid as that may sound,” Eva replied. “Recent reports from Berlin and Paris confirm that whole cities have been overrun. Only the ARC camps in the tundras are meeting minimal hostile presence.”

Andreas was aware of ARC’s evacuation efforts. The Coalition had hastily deployed refugee camps in the freezing landscapes of Greenland and the Earth’s poles, the isolated locations giving the surviving civilian populace a place to evacuate. Whether the demons didn’t fare so well in the freezing cold, or were unaware of ARC’s bases, nobody knew, but humanity had been forced to live within the planet’s harshest conditions as a means of survival.

“Does it seem strange to you, that our dropship was the only one to be brought down?” Eva asked him as he crossed an intersection. “Why were we the unlucky ones? And why did the other two meet no resistance?”

“Karma?” Andreas suggested.

“As I told the admiral before, three unarmed ships would make a tempting target to the mortally challenged. I’ve dedicated a significant portion of my lattice to calculating an explanation, and karma is last on the list of explanations.”

“There’s no use dwelling,” Andreas replied. “We’re stranded, and that’s that. Hell needs to throw a bit more than some cacodemons to stop us.”

“Speaking of which, bioscanner’s picking up contacts dead ahead.”

As Andreas rounded the next corner, he hunkered, taking cover behind a wrecked truck before peering down the street. His visor tinted to drone out the glare of a fireball, the projectile cast from a humanoid stood upon the hood of a distant car. The imp’s bodyplan was familiar, with several ivory spikes protruding from the backs of its skinny shoulders, its hide an oily mixture of purple and orange flesh. A pair of beady, orange eyes were situated above a tight mouth, the lips filled with tiny needle-like teeth.

The imp loosed a snivelling snarl as it cradled another fireball in its palm, tossing it in an overhand throw. Andreas wasn’t the target, however. The imp was surrounded on all sides by a group of zombies, filling the air with their mournful wailing as they clawed and groped. They looked like humans whose souls had been sucked right out of them, and that wasn’t too far from the truth. Corruption had turned their skin into a sickly brown, the skin between their fingers webbed and wrinkly.

The group of zombies were groping for the imp, bumping incessantly into the car’s flanks, their fingers mutated into long claws, the demon conjuring fireballs in retaliation. It scorched one of the undead in the face, the creature moaning as it dropped like a narcoleptic.

Witnessing the infighting of Hell’s forces was no surprise to Andreas. Hell’s discordant nature went both ways, and it wasn’t uncommon to witness entire armies of different demons fighting it out while Earth got caught in the middle.

He watched the imp burn another of the undead, then stepped out from cover, bringing his plasma rifle to bear. The imp was the biggest threat, so he sent a burst of bolts downrange, the demon whipping around in alarm. It wasn’t fast enough to dodge out of the way, the creature screeching as the bolts severed its arm at the shoulder, its torso tumbling off the automobile and knocking a few of the closest zombies off kilter.

Andreas checked his flanks, then gripped his rifle by the top railing, carrying it like a suitcase as he walked up to the zombies, the undead turning their glowing eyes on him. Ammo wasn’t unlimited, and he knew from experience that zombies were slow-moving things. Hell treated them as little more than expendable chaff, and so would Andreas.

He gripped the sheath holstered on his thigh, sliding a bowie knife out of the leather. When it came to hand-to-hand combat with Hell, bigger was always better.

He stepped in, driving the blade into the chest of the nearest shambling zombie, the creature gurgling as it died. He tore the blade to the left, dark blood geysering out as Andreas turned to the next zombie. There were five of them total, two going left and three on the right, possessing enough intelligence that swarming him from all sides was their best approach. One tried to backhand him, but Andreas ducked beneath the blow, his glove creaking as he swiped his knife across its knees. Its legs were as soft as tissue paper, the blade meeting no resistance in its journey, the zombie crumpling to the floor.

Flecks of blood dripped off his knife as Andreas angled it up, blocking a swipe from a zombie on the right, the rest closing in, clawed arms raised meekly. He was forced to give room, kicking the leg out from underneath one of them as he backed up, using the stock of his rifle like a mallet to drive its skull into the pavement.

The zombies took advantage of his distraction, one of them managing to get an attack in, its nails scratching Andreas along the bicep. His combat armour was made of sterner stuff, and the blow did little more than leave a scratch, and give Andreas a wake up call.

His blade dark with viscera, he caught one of the creatures in a savage swipe, severing its rasping head from its shoulders, morphing the arc into a follow-up attack. The next zombie raised one of its arms to block, but the sharp point sliced clean through, and the creature dropped with a sizeable hole in its nose.

The remaining undead moaned through a teethless mouth, bringing its claws down on him despite all its dead kin surrounding it. Andreas batted the attack aside, bringing his knife in an overhead position and cleaving it across its chest.

The creature fell to its knees, Andreas kicking it square in the face to send it falling back. Checking that the coast was clear, Andreas knelt to wipe his blade clean, his HUD confirming that his armour hadn’t been breached and was still pressurised.

“I wouldn’t bother if I was you,” Eva said, Andreas pausing just as he was about to slot the knife away. “More signatures, dead ahead.”

A ping flashed before his eyes, a vector arrow appearing on his HUD. He turned to where it was pointing, seeing dozens more shambling shapes crisscrossing the street before him. Some of them had already taken note of his presence, their wails of alarm drawing more of them from the obscured alleyways.

“We can find a safer passage if we doubled back,” Eva continued.

“Already started here, might as well finish the rest off,” Andreas replied, holding his bowie knife ready as he moved up the road.

“Don’t be so gun-ho,” Eva grumbled. “Need I remind you you’re carrying three Argent Energy shards? Even a slap from a zombie could cause one to discharge.”

“That won’t happen.”

“It literally just did a moment ago, you bozo.”

“You’re supposed to be my support, not my critic,” Andreas grumbled. “Remind me again why I keep you around?”

If she had eyes, Eva would have glared at him, voicing her sigh as she pinged his HUD again.

“According to my sensors,” she said. “there are nineteen contacts within a fifty-meter radius. If you want to continue down this course, I’d start with the group on the left and work clockwise.”

“Better,” he said, falling into a run. The street was packed with vehicles, perfect to help break up the packs of zombies making a beeline for him. He raised his knife high, sprinting into the nearest zombie, beginning to clear off the horde one at a time.

-xXx-

Andreas struggled over a mound of rubble, his combat armour splattered with gore. The further north he went, the more the destruction intensified, entire streets made impassable by the toppled office blocks.

He’d been forced to journey through the carcasses of collapsed buildings, the way the metal creaked ominously leading him to believe he could be buried alive at any minute, but the worst thing was the demonic corruption. He was seeing less concrete and more crimson flesh, the pink flesh gripping every other wall and ceiling, even the streets had turned to carpets of meat. The way it pulsed as though a giant heartbeat somewhere was fuelling it disturbed him, as did the fact it seemed to wriggle beneath his boots whenever he was forced to trek across a stretch of it.

Zombies plagued the alleys between the pustules, but they were few in number, and seemed shocked to see a human navigating their territory, Andreas dispatching them like it was second nature.

The instances of peace between his encounters with the hordes were short, but not so sweet, as Andreas’ surroundings were anything but pleasant. Everywhere he looked he saw some visceral amalgamation of flesh and bone, and it almost made him impatient for the distraction the zombies provided.

It was during one of these quiet interludes that Eva piqued his attention, blinking his HUD to get his attention.

“I’m detecting a large thermal signature, bearing sixty seven degrees,” she began. “About a hundred meters out.”

“Heavy or super heavy?” Andreas asked, referring to the categories of demons ARC had assigned to Hell’s soldiers.

“My sensors can’t get a good read at this distance. It’s not moving, however, and the heat levels are off the charts, even by Hell standards.”

Andreas began to move towards the heading, Eva creating a vector arrow on his HUD for reference. The bearing brought him away from the coast he’d been using as his guide, the ocean obscured behind the rubble and gore, but as long as Eva was around he stood little chance of getting lost.

After a quick jog, he turned round the corner of a building into an alleyway, noting the ground here started to slope upwards, as though some growth deep below was bulging the concrete. The concrete hill obscured what lay beyond, the vector directing him over the hump. Andreas got down onto his belly, and started to crawl up the slope cautiously, the howling wind picking up as he neared the apex.

The hump terminated like a cliff edge, twisted lengths of rebar stretching out of the concrete like fingers, the metal caked with rust. He put a hand on the edge, disturbing a pocket of dust, slowly exposing his head to what lay beyond. He was looking out over a giant crack in the Earth, the blemish sinking a good twenty meters below street level. The lefthand side of the crack had formed right through the middle of some sort of motel, half the building having crashed into the depths while leaving the other intact, plugging the ravine with piles of wood and glass.

The crack stretched on into the next block, bed lined with whole fleets of cars that had happened to be in the way when it had formed. As his eyes scanned over the ravine’s further reaches, he noticed a splash of colour, and he used his visor’s built-in cameras to zoom in on the object.

Sitting in the ravine’s depth was some sort of organism, the top half of it forming a crescent shape, the pointed corners protruding with ivory fangs, forming the illusion of a maw. At its base was a nest of snaking tentacles and tubes that resembled guts, the wriggling appendages snaking into the surrounding rubble. It was grotesque to put it lightly, but that wasn’t what had caught Andreas’ attention.

Suspended just above the mouth was a portal, the ovular breach in reality cradled in wisps of lightning. It was about the size of a beachball, its dark innards taking on a foggy quality, as though it was trying to screen him from whatever horrors lay within.

“Gore nest,” Eva said, watching the feed alongside him. “That explains what’s messing with my sensors.”

“Don’t see any demons,” Andreas mused as he looked about.

“They don’t guard nests until they need to,” Eva replied. “No mortal would be stupid enough to get close to one, no offense to you personally, Seargent. Don’t even think about it,” she added after a moment. “

“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I’ve been analysing your behaviour since even before I was plugged into your suit, Seargent. When you put that helmet on, I can see what neurological pathways you’re using, and can deduce your thought process from there. Knowing when you’re making an unnecessary risk has become second nature to me”

“I think it’s fully necessary,” Andreas replied. “Besides, I’ve destroyed gore nests before. Remember Panama?”

“You had a whole platoon to back you up!” Eva shot back. “And even then, there were casualties. This deep into enemy territory, who knows what kinds of things will come through that portal if it’s disturbed…”

“You worry too much,” Andreas said, shouldering off his pack. “Just relax.”

“Relax? Did I give you too much stimulant back at the crash site or something?” she asked. “Just how exactly do you plan on taking down a nest all by yourself? I hope you don’t plan on just walking up and punching it.”

He reached into his pack, pulling out a parcel the size and shape of a protein bar, a letter and a number stencilled on one of the faces. He held it up to the visor so Eva could see it, the intelligence sighing in exasperation.”

“Ah yes, as if the Argent shards weren’t enough to warrant caution,” she lamented.

“Timed demo charges,” he announced proudly. “One of the marines packed enough to level a building. I’ll plant some down there, get to MSD, then boom.”

“And what about all the demons that’ll come crashing down on our heads after the ‘boom’?” Eva countered. “We’ve been going mostly unnoticed so far, I’d prefer it to stay that way.”

“We’ll be well on our way by the time the dust settles,” he assured. “You’ve seen what happens when a nest goes up, they’ll be too flummoxed to organise a search party.”

“One explosion won’t flummox Hell,” she mumbled. “However, considering what demon types we’ve seen thus far, your plan has some measure of credence, assuming you run like Hell, for lack of a better word.”

“We’ll be fine,” Andreas assured, placing the plastic explosives back in the pouch before setting off down the slope, his feet skidding on the loose rocks. Once the ground levelled out, he took off deeper into the ravine at a brisk pace, his rifle trained on the ravine’s upper rim.

He ducked beneath a slanted light post, a tremble in the gore nest portal making him hesitate. He was at his most exposed here on the low ground and a conduit to Hell right in front of him, but he hadn’t seen any demons in the area. Hell must be pretty confident to just leave their nests unguarded like this.

“There are other ways to deal with a nest you know,” Eva began, Andreas rolling his eyes. “Marking it for naval bombardment or an airstrike would do the trick.”

“The jets are still around?” Andreas asked.

“Naturally. They will be bingo fuel in a half hour, but I can request air support at a moment’s notice.”

“Handy,” Andreas mused. “But I don’t think a flyboy could land a hit on that,” he continued, gesturing at the nest. “It’s buried in a trench in the heart of demon airspace. Taking it out needs a little more of a hands-on approach. Now, you gonna stop complaining and keep an eye out for me? My motion trackers are fucked.”

“A rip in interdimensional space tends to do that to electronics,” Eva replied. “It’ll only get worse the closer we get.”

By the time the nest was a stone’s throw away, even his HUD started to flicker and blur, the hiss of static oozing into the background. Andreas skirted by a car flipped onto its roof, taking care of his footing as he stepped up to the gore nest. It was a lot bigger up close, the cradle as tall as an office cubicle and just as wide, the suspended portal casting parts of the nest into shadow. Andreas grimaced when he picked up a squishy, smacking sound emanating from within the mouth, as though the thing was chewing its many lips in thought. He’d seen nests like this before, but it didn’t make being near one any less unpleasant.

He craned his neck, staring into the spherical abyss of the portal. His mind couldn’t quite process what he was seeing, like he was looking at an optical illusion, the ball bending the light around itself to make it seem like it was sucking up the surrounding air, a pang of vertigo shooting down his spine as an endless depth conjured in his head.

“There’s a time for everything except gawking, Seargent,” Eva chided, Andreas snapping himself out of it.

“Right.” He kneeled in the roots that sprouted from the nest’s base, producing the explosives again. As he set up the trigger to the right frequency, Eva chimed in again, a touch of concern in her otherwise flawless voice.

“Seargent, I’m picking up movement nearby, and I don’t think it’s interference.”

He stole a quick glance over his shoulder, scanning down the length of the ravine. A small landslide disturbed the slope on the right, a few rocks falling into the ditch, but there was nothing when he looked up at the street.

He focused back on his task, setting the plastic block by the foot of the nest. That horrible, squishing sound had taken on a more guttural quality, as though some monster from the dark was starting to growl. Had touching the nest disturbed it somehow? It was hard to tell whether the nest was alive or not.

“They’re in the rubble,” Eva warned. “Contacts all around us. Seargent…”

“I’m working on it,” he grumbled, his heart beating against his chest. He heard another landslide strike the rocks behind him, but he didn’t look this time around, every second counted, Andreas placing down a fourth block, then a fifth.

After making doubly sure the remote was all set, he rose to standing, whirling around rifle in hand. Movement near the flipped car caught his attention, Andreas training his sights on the pocket of rubble by the left wheel. The stones rolled and shook, before a giant clawed hand burst up from beneath, sending a puff of dust wisping into the air. The hand was followed by a narrow arm, a calloused shoulder, and then finally a shrivelled head of a zombie. It was like something straight out of a horror flick.

The demon released the beginning of a moan before Andreas put it down with a burst of plasma bolts, the superheated energy turning some of the surrounding detritus into bubbling magma. Eva pinged his attention further up the slope, and he watched as more pockets of rubble started to shake, the growls of dozens more of the undead reaching his helmet’s speakers.

“Gawking again, Seargent,” Eva warned. Her words spurred him into action, Andreas turning on his heel, rushing passed the undulating gore nest, the portal’s surface rippling with rings of energy that made it look like a giant archery target.

Ahead and above him, there was a flash of red light, Andreas ducking just in time to avoid a fireball aimed at his face. Up on the street level, an imp was standing over the lip, its tiny mouth pulled back in a vicious snarl.

Andreas shouldered his rifle, sending a stream of bolts the demon’s way, but the creature darted out of sight before his shots connected, reappearing further down the ravine. He was pinned, and the demon knew it.

Another car wreck lay a few meters deeper into the ravine, Andreas ducking behind it as another inferno was sent his way. The zombies were swarming around the gore nest now, yellow eyes gleaming as they chased him down. Andreas knocked four of them down with a sweep of his gun, but the rest simply dragged their mutilated feet over their fallen brethren, closing the distance slowly but surely.

He winced as the automobile rocked, a fireball shattering the window above him. He couldn’t afford to get pinned here, or else blowing this entire ravine up, with him in it, would be his last course of action.

He peeked over the hood, searching for a way out of this trap. The far side of the ravine looked shallow enough to climb, he should be able to get back onto the street, assuming that imp didn’t burn him to a crisp given the lack of cover.

Taking his chance, Andreas vaulted across the car, spraying his plasma rifle up at the lip, forcing the imp to duck away. He stumbled up the incline, boots crunching on the small rocks.

The rubble transitioned almost ninety degrees as it met the street, Andreas forced to throw his weapon up and then haul himself after. The added weight of his gear and armour slowed his efforts, Andreas aware of every moment he placed his back to that imp and the zombie entourage directly behind him.

Andreas swung his legs up onto solid ground, but too late, a searing pain shooting up his side as something hard slammed him in the ribs. He dove away from the ravine to create distance, which was more like a roll. He recovered his plasma rifle laying nearby, glancing down to see where the fireball had hit, the scorch mark standing out against the ceramic plating on his chest piece. The armour had saved his neck, but it still felt like someone had punched him with a hot iron.

Looking around, Andreas found that he had emerged into a desecrated carpark, one side flanked by a sheer concrete wall, maybe a plaza of some kind. There were abandoned cars everywhere, the lot surrounded by a wire fence save for a pair of boom gates on the far side of the lot.

The hairs on his neck stood on end, Andreas looking back to see the zombies were following in his footsteps, two dozen clawed hands gripping the ravine’s edge.

“Seargent, I’m picking up so many contacts that my sensors can’t keep count,” Eva warned. “That’s a lie by the way, there are fifty-two zombies buried down there, and more are moving in. You don’t have the ammo for this.”

“Not an issue,” he replied nonchalantly, holding up the detonator.

“But must have put seven pounds of explosives down there! Are you even at minimum safe distance?”

Andreas replied by squeezing the trigger.

-xXx-

A a wisp of inferno bloomed in her palm ass he flexed her fingers, the flickering light framing her bored features. The fire gave off no heat, her own crimson skin was shielded against her own energies, but that hadn’t always been the case.

When she’d been a bumbling newt in the festering quagmires of her youthhood, conjuring fireballs had been a difficult task, her attempt resulting in fresh blisters and sharp, painful instances she’d locked away, the memories only resurfacing when she grew idle, and there was no shortage of that these days.

Her ‘weakness’ had earned her the ridicule of her ‘peers’, and it hadn’t been long before the names had started. She had been too frail at the time to stand up to her male counterparts, instead reclusing herself to the crags, wallowing in her own misery.

Pathetic.

Her fingers snapped over the flames, choking them out.

That had been over two hundred years ago, basically another lifetime, yet remembering times passed was trivial in current circumstances. Reminiscing was all she could do in this malodorous world. That, and listen to the priest and his endless spiels. She couldn’t decide which was more torturous.

“-have more of the Possessed in reserve, in the unlikely event of retaliation. The borders remain secure, although we have detected navel vessels just off the southern coast. They’re beyond striking range, but the Baron’s on the other side of the Alboran Sea are already making plans to deal with them. As for supplies…”

She tried to drone him out by counting the number of rafters on the ceiling, tapping her claws against the table she lounged behind. They were in the study, the east and west walls lined with stacked bookshelves draped with manuscripts and writings from across the dimensions, including this one. Battleplans were pinned to every surface available including her desk, claimed and unclaimed sections of the city marked in reds and blues, travel routes for heavier forces snaking through the districts. She’d once called this her war room, where she would stage attacks and posit strategies for the conquest, but now it was little more than a study, the priest’s voice echoing off the black masonry as he read off his daily report.

“The imps have also expressed their dissatisfaction with their food allocations,” the priest continued, sparing her a sceptical glance. “I reinforced the levels of generosity you’ve given already, but they were insistent. With the dwindling local fauna they’ve resorted to… mild levels of cannibalism. There were even a few less than exemplorary comments directed toward your person. This may warrant problems if-”

“Yes yes, increase their meat reserves accordingly, priest,” she muttered, waving her hand before returning it to its place beneath her chin.

“An astute choice, my Baroness. Very astute.”

Her eyes returned to the rafters, the constructs starting to lose their splendour. They started as columns rising from the floor, then began to sprout into several smaller branches two thirds up their lengths, webbing to the ceiling to create spiralling patterns. She always found the masonry of Hell’s architect to be needlessly eloquent, and found her surroundings even more dull as a result.

Something had to change. Anything to get her thoughts directed elsewhere, less they turn to her embarrassing past.

“I demand you tell me something about you, priest,” she began suddenly. “I seek a break in these monotonous reports and you will provide it.”

He lowered the scroll he was reading from, sparing her a curious glance as he straightened his posture. “M-My Baroness, you honour me, but I am not worth a modicum of your radiant attention.”

“I’m not interested in your miserable life, priest,” she snapped. “My wish is to discuss something other than this stagnant campaign.”

He deflated a little at that, but replied with a deferent nod. “Very well. What would you like to know?”

“You were one of the first humans to enter Hell’s service,” she stated. “What did you do before that?”

“My mortal life is a distant fragment, Baroness,” he replied, glancing off to the side. “When I ascended, large portions of my memory were erased. I can’t quite recall who I was, but I think of that as a good thing.”

“You are quick to remember every simpering word in your dictionary, but the memory of your whole life escapes you? Try harder.”

“I was a… teacher,” he said, suddenly regaining his memory. “Grade seven science, if I recall correctly. The students were animals,” he scoffed, his lips curling in humour, despite the insult. “Never shut up, never paid attention. I recall this one boy used to make it a habit of locking me out of the classroom, before his expulsion. Sometimes it seemed I cared more about their grades than they did. But that’s our duty, to teach the young, prepare them for life whether they want to or not.”

“Quite,” she said, feigning interest.

“Does my Baroness have schools where you come from?” he asked, trying to maintain the conversation.

“We have a tertiary system, but it is beyond your comprehension,” she replied. “And who gave you permission to ask questions?”

“My apologies, I can get carried away sometimes.”

She rolled her eyes, sparing the man a slice of pity. He couldn’t have had the opportunity to talk about himself very often, but with a breath she’d shut him down. How far did his spineless back bend, she wondered? Perhaps she should put it to the test.

“I was considering joining the imp patrols tonight,” she began, shifting topics. “Breath some of that fresh, musty air of your planet. I trust you will run the legions smoothly in my absence?”

“Of course, my Baroness, of course. I would be glad to ease your burden.”

“Actually, I changed my mind. The legions need a demonette’s touch to keep them in check.”

“My sullied hands would have caused turmoil without your presence, Baroness.”

“Oh, but you are my most trusted lieutenant, who am I to stop you from doing your job? I could use a good long walk anyway.”

“You deserve to burn off some stress, my Baroness. It’s a human belief that getting adequate amounts of sunlight is good for the mind.”

“Then again, you mortals are new to the legions, some may take advantage. I should stay.”

“A wise decision. Solar radiation is considered unhealthy by most doctors.”

“But I so wish to see the skies instead of these rafters. Perhaps I will take my leave after all.”

“Our doctors are more often wrong than right.”

She leaned back in her throne, answering with silence. Why had the Lord seen fit to assign her with a bunch of yes men? Granted, the fear she could smell oozing out of his pores was well-placed, but she longed for the days of the peaks, where action took precedence over council, where she was challenged by friend and foe alike.

Just once she’d like to be questioned, provoked, she’ deven take an assassination attempt at this point Anything to activate the neurons in her brain. Lounging in a study, listening to drivel was not a Baron’s place.

The Gods of Hell must have been watching her plight, for in the next moment, her throne quivered beneath her as a distant crack rang out, a rumbling noise like that of thunder echoing through the study. She shared a confused glance with the priest, then turned towards the balcony.

“You said nothing about a storm, priest,” she muttered.

“No, Baroness, I did not….”

Her hooved feet clicked on the obsidian tiles as she marched across the room, emerging into fresh, ashen air. The unimpeded view of the continent stretched out before her, as boringly dead as the last time she’d gazed over it, save for a single feature. A plume of smoke rose up from the ruins a couple leagues to her north, its source hidden beneath the carpets of rubble.

“Imbecilic imps,” she scoffed, turning her nose up at the sight. “Give them a moment of downtime, and they’ll obliterate everything they touch. Then again, this downtime has afflicted me in much the same way.”

“Your usual agreeability has taken a turn for the worse,” the priest agreed, sidling up by her flank. She detected a hint of sarcasm there, but before she could point it out, another commotion filled the stale air, this one mush closer that the last.

She turned her gaze lower. Bundled by the foot of her cathedral was a city of flesh camps and twisting spires of corruption. Infernal machinations transported from Hell itself suffocate the air with fumes, the low din of snarling demons rising above the slamming of hammers and pistons. Imps, cacodemons, and other mentally-impaired fiends brawl in the filthy encampments further out, while her more sensible forces watched and cheered from the sidelines to spectate the bloodsports.

Her sensitive ears picked out something else among the regular tumult. Was that screaming, shouts of alarm? She scanned the inner sanctum that secured the base of her tower, the obsidian foundations protected from the chaos of the camps by a tall black wall, the area filled with her weaker, but no less important acolytes. They were scurrying about like ants, abandoning their summoning circles to flee up the steps of the cathedral.

“Priest, why do your underlings abandon their duties?” she growled, turning her burning eyes on him.

“I-I do not know, my Baroness. If I would humbly request your leave, I can find out for you.”

“I have a better idea.”

She turned and leaped off the railing without another word, diving into freefall with her long legs flush together, leaving a perplexed priest behind to watch. Her study was around sixty meters above ground level, but she had jumped from greater heights before, the wind screaming in her ears as the ground rushed up to greet her.

She landed in the middle of the sanctum, web-shaped cracks forming beneath her hooves as gravity lowered her to a knee. Her dramatic timing had landed her right before a fleeing acolyte making his way into the cathedral. If she’d been a meter ahead, she would have crushed the human like a bug.

She raised herself to standing, the way she towered over the acolyte sparking terror within his gaze. All around her, similar robed humans stopped in their frantic retreats to stare, pausing in various poses of panic.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” she demanded, directing her question to the one she’d landed in front of. “Who dismissed you from your duties?”

“M-My most esteemed Baroness,” the human began, his robe spilling out around him as he sank to his hands and knees, grovelling at her hooves. “My w-words are unworthy of your ear. My Lady is too wise and esteemed and salubrious to be-”

“You’re right. They aren’t worthy, they’re annoying.”

She swatted him aside with barely an effort, sending him crashing into a pair of his fellows gathered nearby, the group of them toppling over like pins.

“You there,” she said, pointing a giant claw. “The one with a tennis ball for a head. Explain to me what is going on here right this moment.”

The one she’d indicated was pushed to the forefront of the crowd, the man bowing his bald head in deference. Like the rest of the acolytes, he was clad in a simple robe hoisted by a leather belt, tanned skin hidden behind an obscene number of tattoos and brands.

“It’s one of the nests, mistress,” he began. “We were in the midst of a blood sacrifice when its unholy energies were silenced not a few moments ago.” The man swallowed, the lump crawling down his scarred neck. “Our projections over that section of the city are met with darkness, we can only assume it’s been destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” she echoed. The growl in her tone causing the man to bow even lower. “Our nests are far beyond the frontlines, how is that possible? Was it those feral savages from the west?”

“We can’t be certain until the patrols report back,” the acolyte replied, staring between his feet as though presenting his shaved cranium. “But incursion from the human stronghold is a promising theory.”

“I don’t want theories, cotton swab, I want answers.”

She swept her eyes to that smoke plume as the crowd looked to each other pensively, staring daggers at the roiling smoke. She was not as closely associated with the energies of a gore nest like these worshippers, but the ramifications of losing a gore nest were great, regrowing one took a lot of time and resources. No demon would dare bring a nest to harm whether by accident or not, this had mortal written all over it. If that blast was the Rallypoint’s doing, how had they achieved such a thing?

Her musings were interrupted as someone trundled down the cathedral steps behind her, the priest rushing into her view. He was panting like an animal, visibly sweating, but he still managed to give her a patient look as he approached as close as he dared.

“My Baroness, I’ve just spoken with the other Possessed, it seems-”

“Spare me the details, priest, I already know what’s transpired,” she said. “What I need to know is how this has happened under your watch? When we planted those nests, was it you or me who raved on about their security?”

“I assure you, most unholiest matron of Hell, that you will have your answers. I’ve already sent a detachment of imps to-”

“Curse the imps,” she snapped. “I will investigate this disruption myself. Open a portal.”

“B-Baroness?” he asked, looking at her as though she’d just said mancubus’ were the picture of beauty. “Where there’s one explosion there may be more, bringing you to the nest would present great risk to your immortality.”

“Oh, so now you’re opposing me?” she scoffed. “What happened to heeding every beck and call, dog? I’d take a risk to my being over your incessant prattling any day.”

The priest sulked, as though this was the first time she’d called him out for his subservience, which it wasn’t by far.

“The portal,” she said. “Now.”

He nodded, moving a short distance away, waving some of the acolytes over. Together they lifted their hands, starting to change a guttural hymn that was a blend of human and Hell tongue, the wordless song bursting at the seams with sin and degeneracy.

She was already walking by the time the crimson portal bloomed in the middle of the sanctum, stretching out higher and wider to accommodate her substantial size. The crowd parted before her, the closest ones tripping over their bare feet to stumble out of her way.

“Back to your tasks, wretches,” she snarled. “The rituals must continue. If any one of you even think of fleeing inside again, I will spike your head on my claws.”

The warbling portal engulfed her as she stepped into the bubble of energy, a sense of weightlessness engulfing her as she was transported from one spot of reality to another.

As the small delay of transport passed, she considered the priest’s warnings. Whoever had taken out the nest – a squad of mortal commandos was her best guess – they must have planned this moment, waiting for her legions to be at their most lax before starting the attack. Humans were frail things, but they could be crafty when the need arose.

She must tread lightly. Whoever had destroyed her nest, they must be a conniving, and very disciplined to have made it so close to her cathedral undetected.

-xXx-

“I think I should have moved a bit further away,” Andreas mused, slicing the arm froma zombie groping at his helmet.

“A bit?!” Eva exclaimed. “One block should have been the minimum, but you blasted it while standing right on top of it!”

He’d been thrown clear after his explosives had shaken the literal ground beneath his feet, adding another splitting crack to the ravine scarring the Earth, the parking lot cut in twain. He hadn’t had a moment of peace before the hordes had come swarming between the abandoned automobiles, drawn in by by the explosion and the destroyed nest alike.

“Now we have every demon and his mother coming down on our heads,” Eva complained, Andreas tyring to drown her out by focusing on kicking the next zombie coming at him. “I’ve half a mind to call in that airstrike just to spite you.”

“I’m handling it,” he replied, his tone nonchalant as he fired off a burst of his plasma rifle, mowing down a group of zombies on his flank. He was working his way through the lot one group of undead at a time, using the cars to block off his blind spots and create distance. The hordes were supported by a handful of imps lingernear the edge of the ravine, tossing wild fireballs in his direction, hitting their undead allies more often than not.

Andreas cut down the last pair of zombies in his immediate vicinity, then turned to scale the nearest car, the chassis creaking as he vaulted onto the roof. Like Eva had said, more hordes of the undead were pouring into the lot, using their collective mass to bend the wire fence over in places.

As he wound through the column of vehicles, using their roofs to take potshots at the incoming hordes, a peculiar sensation made tensed all his muscles. A blanket of impending dread draped over his shoulders, the feeling causing the hairs on his neck to stand on end. The air temperature plummeted, his instincts warning him he should not turn around, but Andreas never listened to them even at the best of times.

He looked over his shoulder to see a portal forming on the far side of the ravine. Much like the one hovering over the nest, it’s shape was of a giant ball, full of darkness that swirled with the occasional red tendril, like a pot of ink that had been spiked with a drop of blood. It was as big as the face of a semi-trailer, and as he peered into that egregious shape, something peered back, a figure emerging from its confines.

Its profile was of a humanoid of massive proportions, around nine feet from head to toe, or horn to hoof in this case, one of the biggest demon’s he’d ever seen stepping into reality before his eyes.

A heavy clock of hooves accompanied the demon as it stepped onto the ruined pavement, so heavy he could feel the weight of its steps even from here. The dark hoofs were tipping a pair of jointed legs, calves and thighs as big as his torso covered in a luscious coat of brown fur. Next came the torso, the fur giving way to red skin at the waist, like it was wearing a pair of stockings. A simple leather loincloth looped by a string dangled between its goat-like legs. The stomach was bare, revealing an impressive set of abs, the powerful core complimented by the wide curve of a womanish set of hips.

Her torso – for this was indeed a her – splayed out to the width of a door as it neared the chest, a pair of monumental breasts merging through the portal next. They were as big as his pack and just as voluminous, yet they seemed fitting on such a massive creature, their teardrop shape complimented by their firmness. More pieces of string hung from her muscular shoulders, serving to hold up a colourless sling that wrapped across her shapely bust, the cloth leaving an enticing slice of underboob exposed, the sight distracting Andreas from his fear for one shameless moment.

Last came the face, and to Andreas she looked like a cross between a human and a bull, the comparison furthered by the pair of dark horns protruding from the top of her skull. Two carnivore tusks jutted from her bottom lip, yet her features weren’t entirely brutish. A snout like that of a cow’s rested above her toothy maw, a silver piercing looping through the nostrils. The shape of her eyes was somewhat familiar, a pair of striking green eyes narrowing in scrutiny.

Andreas shouldered his rifle reflexively, but it seemed the demon hadn’t noticed him yet, turning its bright gaze on the nearest imp. She barked out a few words that were lost on the air, the lesser demon shrinking in on itself as she began to verbally abuse the creature. When she at last let up on her rant, the imp mumbled something in answer, raising a claw in Andreas’ direction.

This new she-demon seemed unimpressed with the imp’s respone, if her seizing it by the head, and tossing him down the deep ravine was any indication of the fact. The imp hollered and screeched as it tumbled down the rocky slope and out of sight, the demoness snorting through her wide nostrils in disgust. She lifted her gaze, a chill running down Andreas’ spine as she set her sights on him.

“On second thought,” Andreas said. “I’ll take that airstrike.”

“So there is logical reasoning under that thick skull,” Eva muttered, her tone a mix of sarcasm and relief. “Good to see the appearance of a Baron is where you draw the line.”

Andreas double-timed his exit from the lot, heading towards the boom gates sectioning off the street. He dispatched another zombie on his way, hearing a wordless shout echo from behind him, its source obvious enough. Andreas had watched video feeds of Barons of Hell, but until today he’d never been so close to one. They were part of the more elite servants of the infernal legions, shocktroopers that could withstand tank shells, and filling a leadership role in Hell’s ranks. His stunt had pissed off more of the demonic hierarchy than he first realised.

He cleared the boom gate, panting into his helmet as he dashed up the clogged street. A voice crackled to life in his helmet as he dipped onto the footpath, the calm tone of what must be his air support coming through his helmet speakers.

“This is Shrike two-two, targeting request confirmed. Keep em’ painted for me. ETA two mikes, copy?”

“Loud and clear, over,” Eva replied. “Seargent,” she added. “I can use the sensor suite on your helmet to designate the Baron for the pilot. All you have to do is keep facing it.”

Andreas spared another backward glance, seeing the Baron following in his footsteps, barrelling through the boomgate rather than vault over them as he had, hooves clocking on the pavement. She kicked an automobile out of her path like it weighed no more than a plant pot, striding up the street after him with a pace reminiscent of a Sunday’s walk. She was like a force of nature, anything that got in her way simply crushed beneath her.

She raised a four fingered hand in his direction, her arms so muscular he could make out veins as big as straws. At her behest, a pack of imps trailing after her charged, swarming by her feet to give chase, her presence rallying the demons.

“Strafe this big bitch, pilot,” Andreas said, using his wrist-computer to transmit the Baron’s position, rounding the corner of the next building as he did. Several fireballs streaked down the road after him, grazing the tops of cars by scant inches.

“Coordinates received. Target ‘big bitch’ confirmed,” the pilot replied.

“Keep her in your sights as much as you can,” Eva advised. “And stay at MSD this time. Not even you could handle the collateral damage from a thirty millimetre.”

The alleyways and backstreets here were demon-free, which would make finding an escape route an easy matter, but Andreas wasn’t ready to turn tail just yet. When he was a comfortable distance down the road, he turned about, searching for a spot to hole up for a stand. Knocking out a gore nest and a Baron on the same day didn’t just happen to everyone, and he’d be doing mother Earth a disservice if he didn’t take the chance to give Hell two swift kicks to the pants.

There was an overturned bus just off the side of the road, a sedan crumpled against its hood suggesting there’d been a collision. That would make a good place to overlook the street from higher ground, Andreas scaling the car, then pulling one leg up onto the bus. The metal groaned as he took a knee near the front wheel, reaching for his belt once he double checked he was clear.

There was a scope hooked to his rigging, Andreas flipping it the right way around. He slid it onto the rail of his plasma rifle, then took aim, fixing the glowing reticle on the far side of the street. The corner was blind, and if the Baron and her imps still assumed he was on the run, they’d run right into his kill box.

Soon enough, the imps charged down the intersection, rasping and cackling. Andreas was maybe fifty meters out, but the scope brought him right up to their grimacing faces, and he sent a solitary bolt downrange, hitting the lead imp with a lethal headshot.

The rest of the imps scattered, half a dozen of them taking refuge behind cars or walls, occasionally poking their beady eyes out to search for him. Andreas exhaled as he fired off another shot, hitting an imp as it tried to dash into one of the buildings lining the street, burning a hole clean through its chest.

This time, the plasma stream gave his position away, several of the imps hurling fireballs his way, laying down their version of cover fire. Andreas got down on his belly, taking another potshot, this one missing as it sailed over the head of an advancing demon. These imps were smarter than the zombies, coordinating with each other through wordless hisses and snapping teeth, using the car wrecks for cover.

Flames splashed against the bus as the imps ducked in and out of sight, Andreas rolling out of the way as a fireball blazed through the spot he’d just been lying on. He switched his plasma gun back to automatic, hosing a car wreck down, bright sparks flying from the points of impact. The slagged metal caught on the imp crouched behind it, the creature wailing as it dropped to the pavement with a shard poking from its shoulder, Andreas ending its suffering with a bolt to the head.

He tossed the empty cell to the ground below, catching something red entering his field of view. The Baroness had emerged onto the street, her skin as bright as a chilli pepper, shoving a car out of her way with a snort. A small transparent box appeared on his HUD, fixing itself over her massive profile. That must be Eva’s targeting suite linking the Baron’s location to the pilot.

The imps took advantage of his reload to sprint full-kilter up the road, the closest of them approaching the bus from the left. He sent it keeling over with a well-timed shot, the plasma melting through its skin, the tough creature trying to get back up despite the chunk in its stomach.

Something heavy landed on the bus, Andreas wheeling round to see an imp had leapt the ten feet like it was nothing. It dashed across the length of the bus, zig-zagging as it went, raising a purple arm to slash at his chest.

Too late to shoot it, Andreas waited for it to get close, then smashed its temple with the butt of his rifle, feeling the heavy impact travel up his arms. The imp backed off in a daze, Andreas putting it down with two bolts to the chest.

He heard talons clicking on metal, turning to see another of the demons climbing into the cabin, lowering to a crouch before pouncing on him. He tried to angle his rifle, but too late, the demon crashing into him and sending the both of them tumbling off the bus. The imp was clinging to his behind like a monkey, forcing Andreas to take the brunt of the fall, his chest slamming into the street and knocking the air out of his lungs.

Andreas blinked his daze clear, swiping at the imp with his elbow, feeling a satisfying crunch as his ceramic plating caught it on the jaw. He rolled against the stunned demon, reversing their positions and pinning the creature to the ground, unsheathing his bowie knife as it struggled against his weight. He plunged his knife into the back of its skull, ceasing its movements.

The remaining imp revealed itself through a shriek, Andreas glancing up to see it charging him down. Its hand broiling with fire, it flung its arm out, a pocket of flame the size of a softball hitting Andreas square in the chest, a flare of panic coursing through him as intense heat splashed his front.

He searched frantically for his rifle, seeing it lying nearby. Andreas lunged for it, but the imp kicked it away, stepping in and decking him across the chin with a spiked fist. His helmet saved him from the brunt of the blow, but his head bounced painfully against it nevertheless.

The creature darted in, seizing Andreas’ throat in a grapple, the sergeant feeling the pressure tighten around his neck as the demon slipped its fingers between the joints of his chest plate. He punched the thing in the gut, but the imp’s grip only tightened, a smile splitting its razor teeth as it leered at him.

“Seargent,” the pilot interjected, his voice paradoxically calm despite the circumstances. “I keep losing your target, I need a steady bead, copy?”

“Sorry, flyboy, I guess I forgot my gyroscope,” Andreas snarled, the corners of his vision darkening as he was drained for air. Remembering the knife, he sank the blade into the imp’s ribs, giving it a pointed twist. He shoved the gurgling imp away, feeling wonderful air fill his lungs again as its claws retracted.

His knife trailed viscera as the imp pulled itself off his blade, but despite the grievous wound, the imp made to come at him again, but Andreas was ready this time. He ducked beneath a swing of its claws, ramming his knife home in the same spot again. The imp’s own momentum forced the blade in deep, the glinting edge poking out of its backside, Andreas grimacing as he felt wet gore on his glove.

The demon crumpled against his front, slowly going limp as it bled out. A guttural cry rang out from the other end of the street, Andreas frowning as he looked over the demon’s shoulder, spotting another dozen identical creatures round the intersection.

The Baroness motioned them forward, commanding them to split off into two groups, one hugging the left sidewalk while the other took the right, intending to surround him. The demoness still watched him with that same neutral expression, those bright green eyes never leaving him. She was close enough now that he could see she had eyelashes when she blinked. Weird.

He couldn’t keep this up forever, going hand-to-hand with imps would lead to his death eventually, if they didn’t burn him alive with fire first. He could retreat up the street, but that would mean taking his targeting suite off the Baron. With her around, these demon’s would just keep coming.

He needed to buy time for the pilot, fast.

“Who’s flummoxed now, hmm?” Eva chimed in, helpfully. He was about to scold her, but he stopped himself, a wild tactic coming to mind.

He braced the dead imp on an arm, its head lolling, then sheathed his knife. Steeling himself, he plunged his hand into the gut wound, sinking his glove up to the wrist. Squishy, malleable organs brushed the tips of his fingers, Andreas closing his fist around the closest organ.

There was some resistance, but he pulled the wet chunk of meat free, shoving the imp aside as he held out his prize. The mass resting in his palm was something out of a nightmare, encased in pink pipes oozing fluid, the flesh squashing against his palm like a water balloon. He wasn’t sure if he was looking at a heart or some other organ, but for drama’s sake he hoped it was the former.

“Seargent,” Eva said. “what on Earth are you doing?”

He reached up, hitting one of the buttons built into the back of his helmet, his visor flipping up with a click. He cringed as hot air flooded his face, the stench of oil, blood and death mixing into a permeable miasma of horror.

Without warning, he brought the organ to his lips, and took a wet, pointed bite. Slick, unknown juices splashed against his gums, with a consistency not unlike that of humus, Andreas sinking his teeth until they clacked together. With a turn of his neck, he ripped off a chunk of the meat, a stretch of sinew connecting the two pieces before it broke away.

Like gnawing through an overdone steak, he chewed through the meat with pointed stretches of his jaw, shooting the nearest imp an intentionally wild grin, showing off his bloodied molars. The demon paused in its tracks, a flicker of uncertainty passing through it to the rest of its ilk, the pack coming to a halt.

He didn’t think that was fear in their glowing eyes, but witnessing a bit of cannibalism had given them pause, even the other group of imps had stopped their advance to gawk in bewilderment. His show was working, all he needed now was a little flare.

“This one got lucky!” he shouted, holding up the imp’s heat, which still beat every few seconds. “The next one’s going to be alive when it happens. Who’s it gonna be?”

He wasn’t sure if they understood him, but from the way he spat bits of flesh with every word, and how crazed he must seem to them, conveyed all the meaning for him. One of the imps scampered off, then another, and before long his little charade had cut the demon’s numbers in half, the ones choosing to stay much more wary of him now.

“You’re clinically insane,” Eva muttered into his ear.

Grinning, Andreas turned to the Baron, still stood in the middle of the street. For the first time, she displayed a reaction that was other than vague disinterest, raising one brow ever so slightly above the other. It was subtle, but an expression of confusion crossed her demonic features, and then she opened her mouth to speak.

“A morsel eating a morsel. I have not seen that before,” she mused, her green pupils fixing on him. Despite her infernal appearance, her voice was like honey, every syllable enunciated with deep inflections. “Tell me – festering pile of mortal stool that you resemble – who are you~?”

She hummed that last word in sing-song, cocking her head at him. Those green eyes blinked when he spat the imp-flesh in her direction, throwing the heart aside.

“I’m Andreas,” he said. “And you are dead.”

She narrowed her eyes, but not at him. The screech of a spooling engine had gently risen in volume during their brief exchange, the electric whine becoming a roaring whistle, then a sonic boom.

The demon turned her gaze up and behind her, watching as the profile of a jet soared through the swirling clouds. Its grey hull glinted in the light as it barrelled towards the street, stubby nose aligning with the length of the street.

Andreas threw himself behind the bus, flipping his visor down as the jet swooped in for a low pass. Two cannons mounted to hardpoints on either side of the cockpit began to spool up, a tracer stream of shells chewing into the road right before the Baroness.

The report of the barrage was tuned down by his helmet automatically, but it was no less frightening in its volume, the tracers churning up a pair of cars happening to be in its way, kicking up blankets of dust and rock in its wake. Andreas watched with no small sense of satisfaction as the Baroness was caught in the strafe, raising her massive arms as she darted away, the clouds of shrapnel consuming her.

At the tail-end of the burst, what few imps remained were torn asunder, severed torsos arcing through the air as the ranks were eviscerated.

The pilot came dangerously close to the ground, pulling out of the dive at the last moment, its wings just skimming the tops of the buildings. Andreas ducked instinctively as it screamed overhead, close enough he could see the muzzles of the chain guns were glowing with heat, the craft rising back into the sky, departing as quickly as it had arrived.

“Confirmed hit on target big bitch,” the pilot’s soothing voice radioed in. “I’m RTB for fuel. Safe travels down there.”

“Thank you,” Eva said over the channel. “from both of us, right Seargent?”

“Nope.”

“Well that’s just rude. What do you mean, ‘nope’?”

Andreas peeked round the cabin, and gestured with a glove. As the dust settled, the telltale silhouette of the Baron emerged, coughing and sputtering a string of curse words as she wiped the dust from her face. Fist-sized craters pockmarked down the length of her arm and stomach, streams of her blood dripping to the street, but the Baroness seemed more angry than hurt.

“Stupid, impudent little runt,” the demon snarled, shaking her head as though the strafe had done little but daze her. “I’ll burn you just as I’ve burned your world! Show yourself!”

Andreas retrieved his rifle, stepping forward to meet the challenge, but Eva chimed in before he could act.

“Seargent, don’t,” she protested. “You can’t fight a Baron and its whole entourage without support. We need to get out of here!”

As much as he wanted to sock it to this Baron, she was right. He couldn’t fight forever, and dealing with the imps had taken a toll out of him already. He needed to take advantage of the carnage left by the strafe while it lasted.

Turning on a heel, he dashed up the road, slipping between two cars as he moved for a side street, the brickwork lining promising safety and shelter.

“Run all you want, morsel,” the Baroness yelled, her words echoing up the street. “You’re in my domain now, you cannot escape!”

He slipped into the shadows of the alley, but her taunts followed him for the next three streets before they finally faded into distance.

-xXx-

The Baroness cradled one arm against her breast while she shook a fist with the other, berating the fleeing mortal as he distanced himself from the street. It had been some time since she’d laid eyes on a mortal warrior, but she didn’t remember them looking so equipped. The human was laden with all manners of weapons, every pouch and pocket stuffed with some sort of handgun or knife, the noises his pack made when it jostled hinting at other unseen apparatus. Then there was his bulky armour, the ceramic plating as thick as her claws, the mortal moving with controlled ease despite its weight.

These humans must have finally stepped up their game, sending out their advanced troopers. One just needed to look at her destroyed gore nest for proof.

She glared holes at the human as he fled down a side passage, but right before he disappeared behind the wall, he did something strange. He turned her way, raised his arm, then extended his middle finger toward her. Was he casting some sort of spell or ritual? Did the deranged mortal not know the energies of Hell made her immune to such tempering?

She made to pursue, but after two steps, she felt a tingling feeling crawl up her arm, looking down to see her bicep and shoulder was full of holes oozing her rich, demonic blood, the gaps plugged with silver shells. This sensation, was it… pain?

She gawked in pleasant surprise, clawing into her wounds to remove the bullets left by that aircraft, that tingly feeling morphing into a hot thrum that spiked through her nerves. Not since her failed assault on the Rallypoint had she been hit with slugs capable of dealing her harm. She should leave the citadel more often.

Taking a few minutes to clean herself up, she gored the shells out of her wounds, ignoring the blood drenching her hands, flicking the crumpled bullets away as she took stock of her situation. Her imps lay dead all around her, but that paled to her true problems. The ravine to her rear was still trailing smoke, what had once been a gore nest reduced to a pitiful crater. Scores of the possessed had been obliterated too, and many more would become mindless beasts now that the nest wasn’t their to temper their instincts.

A few hours ago, her grip on this place was ironclad, and now she was faced with a serious threat of losing control. What if this mortal, this Commando, was one of many? Was a coordinated attack on her operation in the works?

No. This was her territory. If even an errant bug crossed her thresholds, she’d know about it. But that only raised the question of how this mortal threatened her nest in the first place. Who was he? Where was his kin?

She’d only get her answers from the little insect himself. She’d beat it out of him, then use his own soul to replant a fresh nest. Punishment could only be befitting of the crime after all.

Claws clicked against the pavement as one of the imps emerged from his hiding place behind her, and she recognised him as one of the creatures cowed by the human’s little show, more of his kin appearing now that they were sure the mortal had departed. She would have laughed at their cowardice, if she herself hadn’t been caught off-guard by it. Very few outside of Hell’s own populace could instil fear in the demonic. Not that she was afraid of the little whelp, of course. Just surprised, which was more than could be said for most of his kind.

“What are you standing around for?” she growled, the demonic pack flinching at her words. “We have kin to avenge. We must track down that mortal and flay him alive.”

“A-As you command,” one of their number replied, curling his limbs around himself. Their fear was thick in her nose, the consequences of losing a nest already rippling through her forces. She had to do something lest they run at the slightest noise.

“Do not fear the mortal’s bite, but my grip upon your throats,” she added. “Flee from battle again, and being a human’s cuisine will be paradise to what I’ll do with you.”

They nodded as a collective, and while she still detected uncertainty, there was little else to be done from such a fickle race.

“Follow me,” she muttered, setting off in the mortal’s direction.

-xXx-

Andreas leant against the flank of a car, his breath coming in short, harsh rasps as he stopped to rest, lifting a hand to his chest. The fire bolts hadn’t hurt during his skirmish with the imps, but now that the adrenaline was gone, his chest was beginning to sting. It might be no less than a bruise, but he couldn’t risk taking off his armour to check, not out here in the street.

He'd been running for what felt like miles, but could only have been a handful of blocks, his path made twisted by the rubble blocking the roads. A few groups of demons had tried to stop him, but they weren’t as numerous as those in the ravine, and he made quick work of them. He hadn’t seen any sign of the Baron, but he doubted he’d lost her so easily.

“You need to seek shelter,” Eva pleaded. “I’m detecting lacerations in your chest and arms, you must rest.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Andreas replied, lifting his helmet and hacking a wad of phlegm.

“That’s exactly your problem,” Eva continued. “You keep pushing and pushing yourself, one day life’s going to push you back. You need time to replenish your batteries.”

“Says the robot,” he muttered, pushing off the car and falling into a jog. “You literally run on batteries.”

“Technically I’m hooked up to a reactor, whereas you are running on your stomach. At least eat something.”

“I just did, remember? Had some demonic sirloin for lunch.”

“I still can’t believe you did that,” she grumbled, Andreas setting off down the sidewalk. “You realise nobody knows what’s in a demon’s genetic makeup, right? You could have ingested Hell’s version of herpes for all we know…”

“It was only a nibble. I’ll be fine.”

Eva sighed – if she had a face, she’d be shaking it right now. “At least tell me what it tasted like.”

“Stringy, hot, a little like overdone chicken.”

“As is everything according to you humans. I don’t imagine the nutrient content was sufficient. You should stop and fix that.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented. “In a minute. Need to get through that first.”

He gestured towards his north, the wide street walled off to one side by a hedge. The cold metal streets gave way to trees and vegetation on the next block, winding cobble paths leading through what had once been a park.

Using park in the past tense was being kind. The city was in ruins, but the demonic invasion had not been kind to this place. The ponds had dried up, replaced with bubbling pools of tar or maybe oil, the trees turned to crooked poles that resembled stalks of bone.

The knee-high hedges and bushels were void of leaves, but the trimmings created just enough of a barrier to break up the sightlines, natural pathways wending through the once-proud fields. A few decorative monuments and fountains could be seen from here, Andreas struggling to imagine how pretty this place must have been before the endtimes. Trying to simply recall colours was becoming an increasingly difficult task these days.

“You want to press on through that?” Eva asked. “Why not stop now?”

“That Baron’s still out here. If she’s following me, I’ll lose her through there.”

Andreas passed through the hedge, which was easily done thanks to the lack of branches and leaves, concrete giving way to dirt as he passed into the reserve. The trees still standing to either side of the path were cooked and stiff, their branches shading what little light pierced the roiling clouds.

He followed one of the twisting walkways deeper into the park, the stone chipped and ruined, writhing creepers poking up through the cracks. Like the creepers on the buildings, these vines were blood-red and covered in little thorns, as though some nightmarish plant had uprooted from the world below. Andreas could have sworn the roots wriggled away from his presence whenever he stepped near them.

After a few minutes, Andreas could almost fool himself into thinking he’d stepped into another world, one of dead plants and alien flora, only the distant tops of buildings giving the illusion away that this was Earth, or what was still left of it. Even the grass had turned to a brownish red colour, a sight he never seemed to get used to. He glanced up at the sky, the heavens dim, despite his HUD telling him it was early afternoon. The skies were still blue over the oceans, but the rainless thunderheads seemed to concentrate over the landmasses to block the sunshine - a result from the suffocating rituals of Hell’s numberless worshippers, some said.

If he failed to save the people at the Rallypoint, if ARC should fail, the whole world would look like this…

A feature up ahead pulled him out of his thoughts, the tiered face of a wall looming in the distance. It was a building, or at least what was left of one. It had been obliterated, only parts of the brickwork still remaining, Andreas seeing more of the park beyond its shattered windows.

The ruin was conjoined to the path by a flight of steps, the structure built upon a small hill. Two hedges of those putrid vines flanked the slope, which should provide a modicum of cover from any prowling eyes.

Andreas moved over and planted himself upon the first step, resting his rifle by his feet. He was exhausted, and hungry to boot, and this seemed like as good a place as any.

“Scans are clean,” Eva noted. “Odd, considering we’ve been overwhelmed with contacts since we crashed. Troubling…”

“You’re always troubled,” he muttered, sliding off his helmet and placing it down.

“I heard that,” quipped the AI, switching to the helmet’s external speakers so she could communicate. “You could do with a slice of caution, Seargent. There’s only so much I can do to keep you out of the fire when you always run into it.”

“Where in the middle of an invasion from Hell, Eva, everything’s on fire.”

“You have a point,” she conceded. “Eat up, Seagent, you need your strength.”

Andreas slid off his pack, the movement irritating his chest, his skin stinging from the fireball he’d taken earlier. “Could you do something about these burns?” he asked. “They’re starting to itch.”

“Your suit has medicinal solutions packed with enough healing stimulants to resuscitate a dead man, but your vitals are within acceptable parameters at this time. They‘re not necessary.”

“Come on, I’m itching up a storm here.”

“The solutions are for emergencies. They can get you back on your feet, but at the severe risk of an OD. Too many shots and your kidneys might get destroyed or your heart could stop. You can live with a bit of itching.”

Andreas grumbled about how she didn’t know what it was like having a body, but dropped the subject – she monitored his vitals all the time, she knew better than he did when it came to medicine.

He fished out one of the MRE’s he’d looted from the dropship, opening it to let the smell of meat rise from the paper bag. He shifted aside the ration heater in search of the main course, too impatient to spend the time setting up the heating element just yet.

His fingers touched something wrapped in foil, Andreas opening it up, finding a beef burrito within. He’d brushed off Eva’s suggestions to eat before, but now his appetite was all he could think about, his stomach grumbling its approval as he took a wet bite.

It took all of thirty seconds to finish it off, Eva chiming in as he delved into the packet for more, a smile in her voice. “Better than imp sirloin, right?”

“Much,” he agreed.

There was an energy drink in the package too, Andreas taking a sip as he considered his next move. The rest of the section had made it to the Rallypoint, the question was would they go through with the mission without him? He had the Argent shards, their recovery could mean the difference between success or failure, though getting bogged down by all these demons was making the task longer and more arduous. Perhaps he could get in contact and send for support?”

“Hey, Eva,” he started. “Can you open a channel to the Rallypoint?” I-”

“Hold that thought, Seargent,” Eva said, cutting him off. “I’m picking up something. West.”

Andreas dropped the can, picking up his rifle and bracing it against his shoulder, peering out over the park. All he heard was the creaking of the dead branches, but after a few seconds, something else joined the tumult, the sound of hooves clopping against cobble unmistakable.

“Put me on,” Eva said. Without looking, Andreas grabbed the helmet and slid it over his head, the gear sealing to his suit with a hiss. Eva pulled up a motion sensor in the corner of his HUD, several red pings splitting up and making a circle around his position. He could see flickers of movement through the ferns, but they hung just out of sight, wary of getting within range of his weapon.

They were cutting off his escape, that much was obvious, but they’re tactics seemed unusual. Most demons didn’t care for caution or strategy, that ability laid within only the elite classes of Hell. That meant…

Andreas took a step into the open, rifle at the ready as he waited for the demons to make their move. One of the pings soon drew closer, and Andreas caught a bright shade of red enter his vision, those clopping hooves growing louder.

A mass rounded the bulk of a nearby tree, two blazing green eyes fixing on him. It was the Baron, her developed body rippling with muscle as she stalked towards him. Despite her sheer size, there was an alluring ease to which she carried herself, the way she planted one hoof in front of the other bringing to mind images of models striding down runways, her hips tilting with each step.

He shifted when he noted all her wounds were gone, her muscular body spotless save for a few scabbing marks. Just how fast could demons regenerate? It was like the entire strafing run had completely missed her.

He could feel her presence on some instinctual level, a sense of primal terror folding over him the closer she walked. She paused a short distance away, peeling her cherry lips back to expose the wicked fangs lining her jaw.

“There you are, morsel,” she said, her voice as powerful as it was feminine. “Having a little rest, are we? You’re either confident or a fool. Perhaps both.”

“You again?” Andreas replied, trying to mask his fear behind disinterest. “How’d you find me?”

“Were you not listening? Your precious country is my territory now, nothing goes on here without my knowing of it.”

“You didn’t know your nest was going to be blown to shit,” he pointed out. He intended it as an insult, but the slight brushed right off the Baron’s horns, the demon flashing him an uncomfortably warm smile.

“I like you, Andreas. Which is why I’m going to give you a swift death. After you tell me where I can find your compatriots, and what their plans are, of course.”

“Our only plan is to send you cunts back to Hell, miss…?” He feigned embarrassment, gesturing at her with his gun. “Excuse me, don’t think I caught your name before.”

The demon straightened her back, pressing out her conspicuous bust in the process and putting even more stress on her sling. How’d she even fit into that thing?

“I am Sharrya, Baron of Hell, Mistress of the Shattered Peaks and commander of a hundred legions. You have the pleasure of being addressed by Hell’s finest.”

“Honoured as I am, bitch of hell,” Andreas replied. “I’m on a timetable, so can we move this along? Or do your boys need some more time to get into position?”

“Perceptive – for a mortal,” she added, sweeping her gaze somewhere to the side. “Then again, imps aren’t known for their discretion, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Why are we still talking?” he pressed. “Come to offer your surrender?”

“No, I’ve come to get yours. Tell me how you managed to be such a nuisance to my empire, and I won’t boil the skin off your bones once I get my hands on you.”

“I’ll be dead before I help you out, sheep-legs.”

“That can be arranged.”

Without warning the Baron – Sharrya - charged across the crimson grass, tusks parting to release a demonic roar. Andreas squeezed the trigger, waving his rifle like it was a flamethrower, hosing the oncoming demon with tens of bolts a second. She crossed her giant forearms over her head, the superheated bullets splashing off her bright skin. He aimed lower, the demon grunting as he riddled her exposed gut with plasma.

She didn’t slow down despite this, Andreas throwing himself out of the way as she bore down on him like a stampeding bull, swiping her meat-hook claws through the space he’d just been standing in, her hooves skidding as she stopped herself. Andreas darted in, driving the stock of his rifle into her side. He heard her snarl in pain far above him, and he made to strike her again, but the demon was faster, retaliating with a savage backhand against his chest.

He felt his feet leave the ground as he was sent flying back, his weapon flying from his hand. He rolled to a stop a good five meters away, his head bouncing against his helmet to leave him in a daze. Blinking through bleary eyes, Andreas looked up to see the Baron stalking closer, a low chuckle escaping her lips as he righted himself.

“On second thought, you can have the stims,” Eva said.

Andreas felt a pinprick on the underside of his forearms, the Seargent wincing as his skin was punctured. Several hypodermic needles were built into the inlining of his suit, which could deliver medication or combat stimulants straight into his system, the suit designed to keep its user going for as long as they were able.

Andreas felt his energy reserves surge, feeling more awake than ever, and he leapt to his feet, the Baron tilting her head as he reached for his bowie knife. Putting on a show, he flourished the blade as he withdrew it from the scabbard, pointing the razor edge up at the demon.

“You can hit harder than that, Baron. Holding out on me?”

“As a matter of fact, I was,” she growled. “But, if you insist on a quick end…”

She curled a hand into a fist, driving it with enough force to knock his head clean off his shoulders, but Andreas sidestepped the blow, slicing his knife along her limb. Dark blood seeped from the wound, contrasting against her red skin.

Snorting like a bull, the demon doubled over in an attempt to grab him, but Andreas darted beneath her arms, feeling wind whistle past his helmet in a near miss. He delivered a swift kick to her knee in the hopes of collapsing her, but her leg was like iron beneath that brown fur, and all it did was cause her to stumble, the demon backing off to keep him at arms-length.

“Slippery little roach, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice so level she could have been discussing the weather with him. “No wonder you evaded my legions so easily.”

She lashed out at him, Andreas dodging the blow, taking advantage to slice her across the elbow. He went to aim for something more vital, but the Baron intercepted him with a knee to the stomach. The air left him in a guttural snarl, his back hitting the sloping stairs he’d just been resting upon.

The demon rushed him, lifting one of her legs up, angling the hoof directly at his face. Andreas rolled out of the way, her foot slamming hard enough that it cracked through two of the steps, her meaty thighs quivering with the impact.

Andreas scrambled to his feet, backing up the steps until he was roughly eye-level with the demon, holding his knife in two hands. She took one step up the stairs, and Andreas took one back, biding for the right moment.

“Oh, how long it’s been since I’ve felt the sting of a cut,” Sharrya breathed, holding her injured arms out, letting the blood drip between her hooves. He expected her eyes to be full of fury, but her expression could only be described as excited. “Seeing my own blood is almost a novel experience to me.”

She brought one arm to her face, Andreas raising a brow as a long, slippery tongue snaked from between her lips to lap at her wound. It must have been a foot long at the least, the pink muscle curling with remarkable finesse. The demon lapped at her wound until it was clean, smacking her lips like she was sampling a fine wine.

“Ah~ The spice of demonic essence. Delectable, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’re insane.”

“Says the one who feasted on imp flesh. That’s almost cannibalism, you know.”

“She has a point,” Eva chimed in.

“You’ve tasted our flesh,” Sharrya added. “Now you will taste death, little morsel.”

She launched up the steps four at a time, giving Andreas barely enough time to sidestep an oncoming fist. He came back with a slice across her chest, but she blocked his knife with her forearm, stepping closer to drive her elbow into his face. The force of the blow was enough to rattle the opaque visor, a worrying creak of fiberglass ringing in his ears. He couldn’t take another hit like that…

He backed away as she followed through with a backhand, those giant claws splayed wide, missing him by inches. He cursed as he realised he’d reached the top of the staircase, his height advantage short-lived. His hand a blur, he reached for his belt, drawing his sidearm with practiced speed. He dumped the mag into her chest, the Baron jerking as flecks of crimson spurted from her torso. The chamber cycled impotently as the handgun finished barking, the Baron splaying her arms out wide and giving him an incredulous look.

“It’s considered dishonourable in Hell to use weapons in a bout,” she chastised, clicking her tongue in disappointment. “Then again, without your weapons and technology, this planet of pillocks would have submitted long ago.”

“Yeah, well, this pillock is giving you a run for your money, you big pink fuck.”

“W-What? Pink…? Pink!?”

Her expression shifted, amusement replaced by shock and anger, the sight ironically putting Andreas more at ease than her toothy smile. The Baron flexed her hand, a pocket of broiling green flame growing from her palm. It grew until it was as big as his head, and then she tossed it in an overhand throw. The firebolt soared overhead as Andreas dropped to his knees, the flames impacting the ruined structure behind him with in a thunderous report, the flames leaving a giant scorch mark on the bricks.

“I cannot remember the last time someone has dared to insult me,” the demoness chuckled. “If only there were more like you in my legions, Andreas. Things might not be so woefully dull around here.”

“Speaking of which, where’re your imp boys?” he asked, flicking the magazine out and sliding in a fresh one. His HUD still showed them hanging back. “Looks like they’re not coming to help you.”

“Your earlier theatrics have inspired caution within them,” she explained, conjuring another two fireballs in her hands. “Not that it matters, you are my problem now, and I will deal with you with myself.”

“As an officer myself, I can appreciate getting your hands dirty.” He gestured at himself. “Come on, pinky.”

His goading worked, the Baron baring her teeth as she crossed the distance between them in a furious charge, emerald flames flicking between her clenched fingers. He made to dart left, but feinted right, a tangible wind brushing his front as the demon lunged past, her momentum barrelling her straight through the wall and kicking up a splash of dust.

Andreas took aim through the breach, firing off round after round at her silhouette. With a snarl, she rounded on him, bending down and then thrusting her arm out in a tossing motion. Instead of a fireball, a brick came tumbling end over end towards him, crushing against his shoulder, Andreas grunting as he felt an alarming pain course through his arm.

The Baron emerged through the breach, crossing the distance quickly on her long legs. She came at him with an uppercut, and this time Andreas didn’t dodge in time, his head flying up as her knuckles dusted the chin of his helmet. He felt blood on his teeth, Andreas scrambling back to give himself some space, his vision doubling, making it seem like two Sharrya’s were circling around him. The medication Eva was pumping into him was keeping him on his feet, but there wasn’t enough stimulant in the world to bite back the pain from a Baron’s punch.

“You fight ferociously, mortal,” the Baron cooed. “I am glad to see not all of your kind are walking tissue papers.”

“If you think I’m done, guess again,” he snarled, taking up a defensive stance.

“Oh, I’m far from thinking that! I want you to keep going. I’ve not felt such challenge since I was young.”

“Seargent,” Eva warned. “A prolonged fight is not advisable, their’s only so much solution I can give you.”

“I know,” he growled. “I’m handling it.”

“Who are you talking to?” the Baron mused. He must have spoken through his external speakers by acciedent. “Have your friends come to finally save you from my clutches? Let them know that Baroness Sharrya welcomes the contest.”

She moved in for another attack, a grin splitting her red lips. Andreas feigned an effort as he raised his knife, driving it towards her oncoming fist, catching her on the webbing between the thumb and finger. Sharrya made a sound that was a mix between a bull’s snort and a demon’s snarl, blood dripping down her arm in thick ropes as she clenched her digits together.

His knife was drawing blood, but her wounds were superficial. He had to aim at something vital, he’d never win through attrition.

This time, it was Andreas who charged, the stimulants flooding his system surging him on. She swiped at him, Andreas skidding to his knees to avoid the blow, turning the barrel of his gun up and shooting her in the face. The bullet skimmed her scalp, a hand flying to her face as she roared in pain. Holding his knife out like a lance, he stepped up to her stomach, his head barely eye-level with her waist. With a cry, he plunged his knife into her gut, half the silver blade sinking into her bright flesh.

The Baron froze up, holding her arms out as though she was intending to surrender, a look of startlement crossing her features as she looked down at him, then to his knife, ribbons of her fluids pouring around the blade with each of her laboured breaths.

Her expression shifted into a kind of giddy surprise, the demon clutching him by the wrist, her tight grip forcing a cry from Andreas’ mouth. With a chuckle, she pushed the blade deeper, hilting herself upon the knife as Andreas watched on in bewilderment.

“Well fought, morsel,” Sharrya said, seizing his shoulder with her other hand. “You have such spirit.”

Her eyes gleaming, she lifted him from the ground, his legs kicking out as she planted her hoof against his chest, sending him flying back. He flipped through the air once before crashing to the staircase, tumbling down the tiers until his back finally compressed against level dirt where he finally lay motionless.

“Get up, Sergent!” Eva pleaded, her voice but a echoing mumble to his ears.

Everything hurt, but Andreas slowly came to, focusing on a bright red figure standing victoriously at the top of the incline. The effect was somewhat diminished by his knife still jutting out of her belly, but Sharrya didn’t seem at all bothered by its presence. If anything she relished the wound.

“I admire your bravery, but you are a fool,” Sharrya laughed, reaching down to pluck the knife from her stomach. “Did you really think you could best me with only a tiny knife, Andreas?”

She let his knife clatter to the ground, the Baroness descending towards him with a dainty gait, her hooves making clocking sounds. First an airstrike, then a knife to the gut, and still this creature walked. Did he have to start dropping bombs next?

He felt a lightbulb go off in his head, Andreas reaching one hand toward his pack. He produced one of the Argent shards he’d looted from the dropship, clenching the sphere in his glove.

“Uhm, Seargent? What exactly are you doing?” Eva asked. He raised his arm like he was preparing to throw a frisbee. “Wait, nonono-!”

Andreas pegged it, the Baron blinking as the ball came flying at her. To his dismay, she snatched the Shard out of the air, her claws clinking against the glass as she appraised it.

“What in the… Are you throwing baubles at me now, morsel?” the Baron asked, chops upturned as she chuckled. “Did you think I wouldn’t catch it… Wait a moment. Is this a-?”

Andreas was already moving, having spotted his plasma rifle lying nearby and making a dash for it. He scooped the weapon off the ground, aimed it in her direction, and squeezed off a single bolt.

Either the demon was too slow to react, or she didn’t see a plasma shot as enough of a threat to worry over, Sharrya standing motionless as the bolt sailed past her head and collided with the Shard.

His vision flashed white, the blooming of a cascade of energies burning into his retinas, the shove of a torrential shockwave throwing him away. His ears were saved by his helmet’s systems automatically dulling the report of the point-blank explosion, his breathing drowned out by a thunderous crackle.

The last thing he saw was the Baroness standing directly behind the explosion, her legs aimed towards the sky as she was tossed back, the world whitewashed with energy. Andreas was thrown to the ground once more, but the image of the Baron consumed in fire outweighed the pain shooting up his spine.

When the imprints of the explosion clearned, he noted a small mushroom cloud towered above him, morphing into the hellish skies. He followed it with his eyes towards its base, where the Baron had just been stood moments ago. Instead of a building and the steps, there was now a giant crater the width of a barn, eviscerating every tree and bushel in a thirty-meter radius, the ground taking on a grey, ashen quality.

“You bozo!” Eva chided, Andreas wincing as she turned up her own volume. “You just-! That was a very strategic resource you just threw away!”

“Threw away?” he asked back, reaching up to rub his ears, feeling like a fool when his glove brushed his helmet. “She was going to kill me! I had to end it right then and there.

“I… I know,” she relented. “Just… We need to have a serious chat about what exactly minimum safe distance means, Seargent…”

He lay there for a while, resting his aching body, eventually summoning the strength to stand. The park was even more decrepit now, the way everything seemed so motionless despite the recent explosion coming off as distinctly unsettling.

“We should not linger here,” Eva warned. “We’ve made so much noise already…”

“I know. Want to make sure we got this bitch first.”

He mounted the slope, boots making landslides of pebbles as he disturbed the earth. He kept his plasma rifle on a swivel, not because of Sharrya, but because he knew the imps were still in the area. Hopefully some of them had been caught in the blast, that would make things easier. If not, maybe he could pull off another cannibalistic stunt with Baron-flesh…

He stomped onto the final rise of the crater, and looked down into its smoking, bowl-shaped interior. Andreas made a gawking sound.

The Baron was laying right in its centre, limbs spread like she was making snow-angels in the soot. She looked utterly intact, only the deep gashes and burn marks branded into her front proving she’d been at ground-zero of the blast.

“Oh, come on,” Andreas sighed. “Is she… breathing?”

“According to my sensors, it would seem so. She is one tough cookie.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious, Eva.”

An unhealthy cough drew his attention downward, Andreas’ bewilderment rising as the Baroness propped herself on her elbows, hacking into a blackened fist as she struggled to form words.

“M-Minions! To me!” she roared. “Stop gawking and aassist me, you cowards!”

“No one’s coming for you, lady,” Andreas said, her bright eyes fixing on him. “They’ve run off, you’re all alone.”

“You,” she snarled between coughing fits. Her next words were laced with venom. “You… weakened my hold on this place, decimated my forces, and bested me in front of my legions. Twice!”

It seemed her injuries weren’t as bad as they looked, the Baroness dragging herself to a sitting position, wiping dust from her eyes.

“I… am positively smitten,” she breathed, beaming up at him. “Where have you been all my life, Andreas?”

He shook his head in exasperation, this deamonette never gave up.

“Should I even bother wasting ammo on you?” he asked, gesturing at her ruined form. “If a bomb couldn’t off you…”

“I don’t know, maybe you have a bigger gun you can show me?” she asked back, revealing her teeth in a coy grin.

A small breeze whistled through the ensuing silence, the call of a dozen dammed humans carrying upon the gale. The imps might have possessed enough reason to flee, but there were countless other zombies roaming the city, they’d be drawn to the explosion like moths.

“Just stay down, Baron, I’ve got places to be,” he warned, but his words only seemed to make the demon more amused, the way she stared at him making him feel oddly vulnerable despite their circumstances.

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t,” she replied. “This is far from over, morsel. Far from over.”

Shaking his head again, he turned away, scaling the slope and checking he had all his gear, minus the knife. As he distanced from the crater and jogged deeper into the park, he could have sworn he heard the Baron giggling herself away.

-xXx-

Sharrya felt like she sat in that hole for hours, drifting on a sea of pain and humiliation as she mulled over the battle. Never on this mortal plane had she needed to wait for her wounds to heal, but the irksome little human had been feistier than he looked, and his strength had called up a hint of caution several times throughout their duel.

She winced as her claws brushed the spot he’d run her through, that feeling of the razor edge driving itself into her stomach still fresh on her mind. Had he aimed just a little higher, this crater may have been her grave, yet the brush with death had made her feel so alive.

She should have been disgusted. A demon of her high standing wouldn’t let a mortal give her trouble. His kind were meagre beings, evolution chaining them to the role of subservience whether Hell possessed them or not, yet she didn’t feel the slightest hint of shame.

In fact, she’d never been so excited, each wound he’d inflicted blooming the thrill that came with battle. This human, this Andreas, had hurt her in ways that many other Baron’s had failed to achieve. It had been so long since she’d been in a good fight.

She craned an eye open upon hearing a scuffle of footsteps, her gaze drawn to the lip of the crater. Had her farewell taunt convinced him to come back and finish her off? She’d been so used to everyone bending over backwards for her benefit, she’d forgotten that there were those who possessed a spine.

“That you, morsel~?” she cooed. “I know I said I’d be seeing you soon, but not this soon.”

A figure rose over the humped terrain, and Sharrya’s grin flipped. It wasn’t Andreas, but one of her imp lackeys, walking over the slope on his knees and knuckles.

“Ah, if it isn’t my entourage,” she said, closing her eye. “Come to do battle after the fight has ended?”

“You live, mistress,” the imp stated in a crackly voice. “does that mean… the human…?”

Commanding her body to obey, she removed herself from her prone position, if only to save face in front of the demon. She dusted her chest off with a hand flick, humming to herself.

“I believe my orders were so simple that even your kind could understand,” she began, her tone sweet. “You were to assist me after I dealt with the human. So tell me, because I so desperately want to know, where were you?”

“M-Mistress.” The imp swallowed, his throat clicking. “When the blast… when we saw you fall, we-”

Sharrya was hurting all over, but she was on him in a second, gripping the imp by the throat, and hoisting him to her eye level, his mutated feet kicking impotently over the ground.

“I do not fall,” she growled. “I have never, fallen, and I shall never be, felled. Remove such thoughts from your peanut-sized mind, or I shall vent my frustrations upon you right this instant.”

“Apologies, apologies!” the demon pleaded, clawing at her hand as she compressed it over his throat. “We were wrong to ever doubt you, mistress!”

With a roll of her eyes, she dropped the imp unceremoniously to the ground, the imp barking like a dog as he landed. Imps were so easy to intimidate, it almost made her long for that temper of Andreas’.

As she climbed out of the pit, she saw she’d garnered an audience, the rest of her imp pack lingering around and casting her strange looks. They were afraid, that much was obvious, but there was also the palpable stench of doubt as well. Doubt aimed solely at her.

She considered slaughtering one of their number, but she could slay as many as she wanted, it wouldn’t erase the fact that this mortal had driven her back while he’d made an escape. Besides, she needed every bit of manpower if she was to correct this situation.

“This mortal must be caught,” she began. “All of you will move east from here. Spear into the city a short distance, then loop north and keep moving. I’ll send another pack to mirror your movements, and together you will cut off the human’s escape route”

“You know where it’s going?” the imp she’d choked asked, stil laying in the filth. “Without nest, how can you be sure?”

More doubt. She’d be concerned if these animals were any threat to her.

“I don’t need a nest to know where he is going, you fool. Do a little deductive reasoning,” she snapped, casting her gaze northward. Over the tops of the buildings, she could just make out the rectangular bastion of a tall, fortified wall, cannons the size of houses lining the corners of the battlements. Considering the state of the ruins, the fortress was one, maybe two days walk from here.

“Will you join us, mistress?” another imp asked.

“I will spear down the middle alone, make sure he doesn’t slip behind you,” she replied. “Plus, I have a headache, and your brainless questions are turning it into a migraine. Begone!”

The imps took off with a string of hisses and snarls, vanishing into the thickets. Now alone, she allowed her composure to slip a little, nursing her arm as she faced the recess below. Just what had he thrown at her that caused such devastation?

She turned her nose up at the crater, catching a whiff that reminded her of… home? Had the mortals weaponised Hell’s essence? Was that even possible? She knew of only one human that had braved her dimension and lived, but that had been long ago, and had ended in the creature’s ultimate capture in memory served.

Incursions into Hell were hardly worth concern, but that nagging doubt that these humans weren’t so defenceless hung in the back of her mind. Using Hell’s own resources against the legions was a tricky, yet ultimately bold strategy, and she wondered what other weapons this Andreas and his kin had in store for her.

This hunt of hers had garnered a new level of intrigue, and Andreas would answer her queries whether he wanted to or not.

-xXx-

Andreas decided to reign back his use of his plasma rifle and pistol, hoping to create less noise and keep the Baron from zeroing his location as he crossed the city. He was confident another of his ‘Argent gambits’ – as Eva had put it – would put her down again, but the demon would be ready for it this time, plus his job was to safeguard the shards, not use them like grenades.

After twenty or so minutes, Andreas emerged onto the far side of the park, the tall buildings and the narrow streets promising more cover than the alien flora did. There was a mixed group of zombies and imps that happened to be lingering nearby, Andreas taking a knee and giving them a wide berth – much to Eva’s relief.

“You need to rearm,” the AI started as he ducked into the nearest street, proceeding up the northern turn. “If that Baron tracks you down, another melee is not going to be good for either of us.”

“I handed her ass on a platter,” Andreas pointed out.

“That’s not the way I remember it, and I record and analyse everything you do. If you hadn’t gambled your life on the most volatile material known to man, you’d have perished back there.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders as he moved into an alleyway, leaning on a flesh-free wall to collect himself.

“I wanted to ask you about that,” Eva said. “How did you know a bolt would cause the shard to implode? What if it ricocheted? What if the blast radius was bigger than you thought?”

“It was a risk I had to take,” he admitted. “Like you said, I would have perished otherwise.”

“All the best computation power humanity can provide, and I’ll never figure out your brazenness,” she sighed. “Lack of self-preservation aside, the fact you need better armaments still stands. You saw how she brushed off your bullets. If other Barons come looking…”

“Well if you see any gun stores around, let me know.”

“I can do you one better,” she replied. “I sent a message to the Rallypoint and brought them up to date with our predicament.”

“Was going to ask you about that. What are they doing? They sending support our way?”

“Not exactly. They’re under orders to hold for our arrival, as you’re aware. I’ve assured the base commander we’ll be there in a timely manner. She’s pretty impressed you took out that nest, by the way. The garrison’s moral has seen a surge after the news got out.”

“I’m sure my mom would be proud. So, what’re they doing to help us?”

“Before the city was lost, there were several safehouses dotted throughout the city. The military used them as staging posts and to stash supplies for patrols to refill on ammo. See where I’m going with this? One such cache is not far from us, and from what I’ve gathered they stored very big guns there.”

“Very big, huh?” he asked, nodding in agreement. “I’m sold. Good thinking, Eva.”

“See? I’m not just a pretty voice. Marking the location now.”

A transparent ping flashed on his HUD, Andreas detouring west to follow it. It was almost nighttime, the streets plunged into darkness as the sun receded behind the skyscrapers coring the city. Night vision was built into his visor, Andreas using his wrist-computer to turn it on, the world turning to flickering shades of green. Without the power grid, it would soon be impossible to see by eye.

The safehouse wasn’t very far, a pack or two of demons barring the way, Andreas dispatching them with relative ease. Ironically, it was his encounters with the demonic that put him more at ease than the walking. He’d lived in a city most of his childhood, and seeing a hub of civilisation so utterly empty was eery, off-putting. There weren’t even any bodies, Hell’s endless hunger had seen to cleaning up the biomatter, leaving only rusted metal and broken glass behind.

After passing the next block, he was on the same street as the marker, feeling like he was being watched as he moved down the footpath. A hundred windows and more loomed over the street, the apartment complexes eroded to the point they were tilting on their foundations.

Eva’s mark was hidden behind a post fence, and adjacent to that was an interesting building. Sitting flush between two complexes was a whitewashed structure with an angular roof, a line of pillars supporting an extruded entryway, made accessible by a small flight of steps. The sign above the doors was scratched and faded, leaving only the letters L and B still legible. Perhaps it was a theatre of some kind, but Andreas wasn’t in the mood for exploring, his marker fading as he approached the neighbouring building.

Andreas tore a hole through the fence posts with a shoulder-check, stepping through the gap into the world’s smallest backyard. There was a small garden of withered flowers in one corner, and a dog house in another, an overturned feeding bowl laying between. A brick wall lined the far side of the square patch of dead grass, two doors built into the façade. One led inside, the other leading underground.

Andreas moved to the latter, tugging the handle, but finding the sloped entrance was barred by a padlock with a number combination.

“They forgot to mention a code,” Eva mused. “Hold on while I get back to them.

Andreas smashed the butt of his rifle against the lock, the clang of metal followed by a quiet clink as the padlock fell to the grass.

“Andreas,” Eva scolded.

“What?” he replied innocently. “It’s not like anyone’s coming to use it anymore.”

He stepped down into the musty interior, ducking his head beneath the concrete roof as he moved into the cellar. After descending a short way, he emerged into a cramped cube, every inch of concrete taken up by shelving units and storage boxes, each one stacked with ammunition boxes, sidearms, and all manner of rifles.

A small stool centred the space, and sitting upon it was a portable radio, plugged into a battery hidden between the wooden legs. Andreas moved around it and started searching the place.

He found spare ammo for his sidearm and plasma rifle, sitting down on the bunk bed stuffed into the corner as he filled his pockets. Further searching revealed a box full of preserved goods, a deck of cards, and a working microwave. One could live down here for a long while if they didn’t mind the cramped space.

The thought got him wondering how many poor sods had tried to hide out the invasion, only to have cornered themselves in places like this. The Rallypoint wasn’t big enough to hold everybody in the country, how many had been lost during the evacuation? Thousands? Millions?

Not another soul, he told himself. One way or the other, he’d get these shards to the Rallypoint. ARC and the human race were counting on it.

“Are you alright, Seargent?” Eva asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just taking five. Let’s see about these guns you mentioned…”

He moved over to the weapon racks, shifting through their contents. Among a pile of improvised weapons was a cleaver in pristine condition, which made as good a replacement for his bowie knife as anything. Next he browsed the rifle racks, most of them of the caseless variety, along with a few looted plasma guns similar to his own, nothing of note. That was, until he reached the last weapon in the lineup.

Leaning against the cabinet was an elongated barrel, topped off with a foregrip and trigger guard, before Eva could put a word in, Andreas snagged the rocket launcher and turned it over in his hands, glancing around the room for canisters.

“It’s not exactly discreet,” Eva said as he searched. “but then again neither are you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You did good, Eva,” he replied, at last finding a canister. It was cylindrical in shape, with four holes drilled around a rotating mechanism, a little like something one might find in a revolver, only scaled up to fit rockets.

His ransacking uncovered over a dozen warheads the size of pepper shakers, Andreas filling the cylinder, then smacking it home inside the launcher, thumbing the safety. He attached the rest of the rockets to his rigging. On top of his Argent shards, he was basically a walking bomb at this point.

“All done?” Eva asked. “Good. Picking up a lot of traffic in the surrounding area. Don’t linger.”

Using a spare sling, he clipped it to the stock of the launcher, then slung the bulky weapon over his shoulder. With a satisfied nod, he turned back for the exit, each step followed by clinking noises as his new rockets jostled around.

Putrid air greeted him as he stepped back out into the yard, closing the cellar behind him as he returned to the street. He watched his footing as he stepped through the ruined fence, and when he looked up, his heart skipped a beat.

There was the Baroness, lounging on the hood of a car just a short distance to his right, one meaty leg crossed over the other. She was posing like a model on the cover of a swimsuit mag, her profile all curves and streamlined muscles, the way her wide hip rose like an ocean wave drawing his eyes.

“Well well well,” Sharraya purred, putting on an air of pleasant surprise. “if it isn’t the slippery, milk drinking mortal with a temper! What were you doing in that dank cellar just now?”

“I’ll show you,” Andreas replied.

His speed blinding, he unslung his launcher, peering down the sights and lining up the pins with the Baroness’ head. He pulled the trigger, a rocket whistling from the barrel, its rear end igniting with jet flame. Sharrya’s eyes bugged out of their sockets, her relaxed muscles now tensing as she rolled off the car, clutching her horns as the warhead flew over her head and blasted the wall behind her, sending bricks in all directions.

“Woah, nice shot!” Sharrya said, looking over her shoulder at the vapourising smoke cloud. “Really showed that building who is boss. Can we not have a civilised discussion for once, Andreas?”

“Unless you’re offering your surrender, we have nothing to talk about,” he replied, raising a brow as the Baroness dusted herself off, then leaned on a hip, as if he hadn’t just tried to blow her to kingdom come just now.

“On the contrary, I have all sorts of questions you’re going to answer,” she replied, raising a claw. “The locations of your comrades in arms, for one. Assuming you’re not all by your lonesome, of course.”

Andreas considered just shooting her again, but the pressure he put on the trigger was only faint. She wasn’t making any move to attack him, and she was bothering to exchange words rather than blows with him this time around. Perhaps he should humour her while he figured out a way to give her the slip.

“I’ve got a whole section of men just round the corner, actually, maybe you can come along and I’ll introduce you?”

She chuckled, her husky voice oddly soothing. He would have called the noise pleasant under more mortal circumstances.

“So you are alone,” she mused, reading him like a book. “A lonesome gnat, biting the toes of Hell’s most accomplished Baron? What were you thinking?”

“Was about to ask you that,” he shot back. “Should have brought down one of the other dropships. The other sergeants are way less thorough than I am.”

“Dropships? Whatever are you on about, you blithering….”

She stopped herself, taking a moment to turn the gears in her head. “Oh,” she added. “Oh you poor, poor thing. You were on that aircraft? It seems I am, indeed, partially to blame for this mess you’ve made, Andreas.”

“That’s Seargent to you,” he corrected.

“Oh, forgive me!” she said, placing a hand on her endowed chest and feigning shock. “Are we not on a first name basis yet? Maybe we should get better acquainted – with you chained in a cell, perhaps?”

“Kinky,” Andreas replied. “But I don’t do prisoner, especially to pretentious bints with horns.”

“Oh, you are feisty for such a little thing.”

“And your ego’s as big as you are. Now are we about done? I’ve got places to be.”

“Have it your way, we can continue our banter another time. The dungeons of my cathedral are rather sparse as of late.”

From over her shoulder, through the cracked windows and side streets, a dozen imps took up positions by her flank, teeth and claws bared. Overwatching this new force was a cacodemon, its cyclopean features grinning down at Andreas as it floated over the procession.

Andreas slotted a fresh rocket into the expended cylinder his chest tightening as a scuffle behind him drew his attention. He turned, spotting another dozen imps moving in from the opposite side of the street, maybe a hundred meters off but sprinting over on knuckles and knees. He was boxed in.

“Turn and run, Seargent,” Eva said. “You can’t fight this one.”

Not needed to be told twice, Andreas turned on his heel, bolting up the steps towards the ornate building, the one with the pillars.

“You’re not escaping this time!” Sharrya teased from behind him. “Seize him, you limp-wristed runts. Don’t feast on him too much, I want him alive.”

Bolts of inferno criss-crossed above him as he dove behind the closest pillar, slinging his launcher back in favour of his rifle. Exhaling, he leaned out of cover, spotting a pair of imps crawling up the steps after him. He sent them tumbling back with a burst of plasma, the bolts turning flesh to goop.

The rest of the pack retaliated with a barrage of inferno, scorching that entire side of the pillar, the demons keeping him pinned as their braver ilk tried to advance. He dashed for the building, spraying bolts from the hip as he withdrew inside.

A cursory glance confirmed the building was a library, and a fairly grand one at that, the lobby flanked on all sides by bookshelves, the units arranged in concentric rings that bloomed out the further they went. The floor cratered in places with chunks of debris fallen from the ceiling, the shelves were empty, and the aroma of burning paper hung thick in the air. The place was a state, much like everything else in this city.

The reception counter was mostly intact, Andreas vaulting over the varnished surface, the air growing hotter as fireballs streaked through the air. He turned out to return fire, catching an imp making to dash through the entryway, his head popping like a melon.

“What now, Eva?” he demanded. “Got me an exit strategy?”

“Working on it,” she replied. “Hold them off for one, two Mississippi’s.”

Andreas sprayed down the entryway, forcing the imps behind the pillars or below the stairs, the demons popping up to hurl fireballs. Most of them were clustering around the flanks to the entrance, too hesitant to make a dash through his killing zone.

Holding out his new toy, Andreas hoisted his launcher over his shoulder, sending a rocket downrange. The whistling pitch of the flying rocket was almost serene, which was broken as the explosion hit one of the pillars, catching a handful of imps and sending stone and blood chunks everywhere in a spray.

The launcher made a satisfying clunk, the cylinder rotating like a giant revolver, the next ordnance sliding into the barrel.

“Eva…” he muttered, the explosion muffled by his helmet.

“Got it!” she replied after a pause. “Satellite imagery shows an exit up on the roof. Fire escape, maybe. It’s on the other end of the library. You can jump to the next roof over and get some high ground.”

“What is this, The Fugitive? I’m don’t do leaps of faith, Eva...”

“Well now you do, because I’ve requested our good pilot friend for some support. This library will be coming down in about six minutes.”

“A little warning would have been nice.”

“I say that all the time about your deathwish plans. Now you know what it’s like. Better get going, Seargent.”

He waited for a break in the fireball volley, then made his move, firing over his flank as he moved deeper into the building, boots passing over hundreds of slips of paper gridding the ruined floor.

Pausing between two rows of bookshelves, Andreas took a kneel to reload his rifle, chancing a look over his shoulder as he heard heavy footfalls, their source unmistakable. Baroness Sharrya ducked beneath the entry arch, her tall horns grazing the threshold. Her sharp, demonic features darted in his direction, lips spreading in what might be a sneer or a smile.

“You talentless tacks!” she said, reaching back to shove a cowardly imp inside. “He’s right there, just hit him!”

The demoness drew an arm back, like she was preparing to throw a punch. Green energy coalesced between her fingers, and she chucked a firebolt the size of a basketball, the comet zipping across the lobby like a bullet. Andreas raised his rifle to shield him from the flames, the ball slamming with enough force to send him skidding back a few inches.

He shouldered his weapon, hosing down the entrance with plasma bolts, his weapon still functional. The Baroness darted right, escaping the barrage, but her imp followers weren’t so lucky, running straight into his sights as they followed their leader’s example.

Over ten of the demons were slumped in a pile by the door, but Sharrya was inside now, he couldn’t hold his chokepoint with her trying to get around him.

He swept the barrel of his rifle round as he fell back, trying to pinpoint her location. He could hear her footsteps, but the bookshelves were always in the way, arranged in grids that seemed to obscure as many sightlines as they opened up.

“You can’t escape~” she called out, somewhere to his flank now. “You’ve been marked for death the moment you meddled in my affairs. You should consider my offer, Andreas…”

“Stop talking shit and come out here.”

“As you wish…”

Something moved down the aisle ahead of him, Andreas bringing his rifle to bear. Sharrya was already tossing a fireball by the time he fired off a shot, the two broiling energies passing each other by as they headed for their targets.

The Baroness barked as the plasma bolt crashed into her shoulder, but Andreas voiced his own curse as her fireball found its mark in his stomach, the Seargent patting his rigging down as parts of the fabric were ignited. His combat armour could withstand intense heat, but her attacks hit like bricks, knocking the wind out of him.

He ducked behind the nearest shelf, sticking his rifle out and spraying the aisle with bolts without exposing himself. She threw another bolt that hit his cover, igniting the wood, Andreas cursing as he was forced to relocate.

As he made his way to the next aisle, an imp cut him off, the demon looking as surprised as he was as they rounded the corner at the same time. The demon made to swipe at him, but Andreas was faster, striking its chin with his rifle, the imp spinning like a top before falling. He put two bolts into the back of its head, then pressed on.

He knew Sharrya was three shelves ahead of him now, bracing himself as he heard her mirroring his movements. She wasn’t stupid enough to run out into the open, however, only putting her horned head into the open as she peered in his direction. When she spotted him, she ducked away, Andreas putting down suppressive fire, hoping to melt her cover away for a clean shot.

Her grunt carried across the library, the shelf she was hiding behind starting to list. It toppled into the aisle, its bulk colliding with the next shelf along with a loud thunk. The next shelf followed the first, a domino chain of destruction rolling down the building towards where Andreas was standing.

The Seargent dove out of the way, a second away from being crushed as the shelving units came crashing down one after the other. Somewhere behind him an imp hollered as it was caught in the path of destruction.

Keeping his shoulder to the next shelf over, Andreas moved along the next shelve. The constant rumbling was making it hard to pick out her footsteps and tell where she was. She could be flanking him and he’d never know.

Something on his HUD pinged, a marker appearing in the next aisle over. Eva must be using her sensors to give him at least a general direction of the threat.

“Hiding will not save you,” Sharrya growled, Andreas peaking round the unit to see her standing by the marker, head whipping from right to left. A short walk behind her was the far wall, with a door marked Exit signed above it. Another ping from Eva confirmed that was his way to the roof.

Letting his rifle hang in its sling, he wrapped an arm over his launcher, sending a canister towards the Baron’s flank, Sharrya turning on him as he compressed the trigger. Her hearing was sharp, as were her reflexes, which is why he aimed at her feet rather than risk a direct hit.

His night vision temporarily burned out as the blast turned every surface of the atrium yellow, dust clouds rising from the impact point. Sharrya’s hooves were directed upward as she was sent tumbling back, hitting the ground with a sick crack that made even Andreas wince.

He dashed up the aisle, leaping through the swirling smoke. He used Sharrya’s backside as a jump board to spring himself through the smoke, for no real reason other than to annoy her.

Before he could reach the exit, two imps moved to intercept him from the left and right. Each chucked a fireball his way, but Andreas dropped beneath them to a kneel, finishing them both off fire a spray of electronic gunfire, continuing on his way like nothing had happened.

Whether the door was locked or not, Andreas shoved his weight into it all the same, the door banging against the wall beyond as he moved through.

Andreas found himself in the library’s stairwell. A set of double backed steps went up, the other led down to the basement level of the building. Andreas rushed up the former, and a searing pain bloomed from the small of his back as a ball of flames kissed his rear.

He turned, gunning down a demon that had followed him through. As the imp dropped, his eyes locked with Sharrya’s, the demoness still laying prone where he’d left her. If looks could kill…

He jumped up the steps two at a time, pain lingering in the base of his spine. These hits were starting to add up, but he couldn’t stop yet. He paused his climb when he was directly above the door. A second later, and a conga line of wily imps were following in his wake, too bloodthirsty or stupid to realise he was waiting for them. Bracing from the hip, he swept his rifle from right to left, plasma severing the bodies of half a dozen imps before the demons knew what was going on.

Andreas trade fire with the demons as he climbed level after level, plugging the stairwell with bolts. He left scores of demonic cadaver in the wake of his ascent, the imps paying no thought for their fallen comrades as they continued their frenzied climb after him. This Baroness really wanted him gone if she was willing to throw so many into the meat grinder.

“Andreas!”

Said Baroness’ voice was like a shriek of a wraith, her horned head appearing in the well.

“Would you kindly desist with the rockets? You don’t know how hard it is to stay coruscate in the face of this dilapidated realm.”

“If only your combat skills were as broad as your vocabulary,” Andreas shot back. “You’d have offed me way sooner!”

He moved as fast as his legs would take him, soon reaching the last curve of the stairs. Pausing before the rooftop access, he brought up his launcher, angling it down the well. Every step was occupied by imps, dead or alive, the ones with more gusto leaping up the well from railing to railing like apes.

Andreas squeezed off three rockets in quick succession, blasting chunks out of the staircase at several different points. It wouldn’t slow the demons down all that much given their obvious athletics, but his efforts took down scores of the chaff, the shockwaves causing several more to lose their footing and tumble back to ground level.

Satisfied, he moved through the exit, dashing out into open air, the wind whipping at his helmet. The roof was barren save for a few air conditioner units off to the side, the grills and fans rusted and broken.

“The northern face, the one on the right,” Eva chimed in. “That’s where you need to jump. Two minutes until Shrike two-two is here, by the way.”

He tuned to the right, and as if on cue, the rotund body of a cacodemon rose from the lip of the building, a tongue the size of a dog sliding out to lick at its fangs. Like a hornet defending its nest, the flying demon zipped in for a low pass, a wet gurgle escaping its lips.

Andreas rolled out of the way, hearing the demon snap its jaws in the air. He produced his launcher in one smooth motion, aiming up as the demon turned about, making to swoop again. He fired off a rocket, square at its facea, the dumb creature too slow to get out of the way.

In fact, it actually split its maw open upon seeing the encroaching warhead, sealing its chapped lips over it and swallowing loudly. Whether it was hungry or just too stupid, Andreas couldn’t tell.

The detonation was muffled by its intestines, the cacodemon torn apart in a shower of red mist, chunks of its hide falling to the roof with tens of wet slaps, a few errant meat chunks plastering over Andrea’s crouched form.

“Fuck me,” Andreas gasped, wiping his visor with a hand. “that was like a Death Star of red meat.”

The area clear, his boots clocked against the bitumen as he rushed over to the edge, resting a hand on a knee as he caught his breath. The next building over was a tier shorter than the library, separated by an alleyway four meters across. Its surface was occupied by skylight boxes, which should make a descent easy going, but he was getting ahead of himself.

He gulped as he peered down the sheer drop, vertigo making the ground stretch further away. Andreas wasn’t afraid of heights, but his palms began to sweat beneath his gloves all the same.

“You can make it,” Eva encouraged, no doubt reading his rising heart rate as a sign of hesitance. “-with a running start, of course. Come on, Seargent, that Shrike’s about to make a pass!”

Growling at the drop, he moved back a few feet, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he prepared himself. Fuck, maybe he was acrophobic…

“Just try not to think about it,” Eva said.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have legs. Or a brain!”

“And I’m still twice as smart as you! Jump, Seargent! That Baron is right behind you!”

The door he’d just come through snapped off its hinges, the streamlined body of the Baroness appearing through the frame. The intimidation factor was somewhat downplayed when Sharrya had to get down on her knees to squeeze through the opening, turning her shoulders until she was almost facing the sky.

She managed to free her wide hips with a pop, the Baroness grumbling to herself as she rose to her regel height.

“Nowhere left to go, Andreas,” she began, gesturing at him with a hand broiled with flame. “Seize him, my loyal subjects! Chain and collar him, so that he may soon know the vast punishments of crossing Hell!”

Andreas waited for the imps to come running, but they never did. The stairwell was the most serene thing he’d seen since the crash.

Sharrya spared the doorway a harsh glance, arm still beckoning.

“Any time now, imps!” she called, her tone touched with hesitance. “Get up here at once, I have him cornered.”

When a moment of silence passed, she rolled her eyes, moving back to peer down the stairwell.

“Oh. You killed them all. Where is my my cacodemon? I was sure I sent for one.”

She turned to give him a quizzical glance, Andreas pointing over her shoulder. She examined the radius of ichor spread across the roof, and voiced a solitary word.

“Bother.”

She made a snorting sound, then faced him once again, the impact of her heavy steps reverberating through his feet as she stalked closer.

“Bravo, Andreas, I must command you on your combat prowess. It’s not every day I get to meet an opponent worthy of my time.”

“What’s with all the compliments?” Andreas asked, a part of him eager to delay the jump. “We’re at war.”

“Oh, I’m always at war with some alien race or other. I may be a warlord, but that does not mean I reject the fine art of conversing with a native. It’s the only thing that piques my interest these days.”

“How about me shitting on your parade this morning? Did that pique your interest too?”

She threw her head back and laughed, her generous bosom rocking in its sling.

“See? This is why I compliment you, Andreas. How’s that human saying go? ‘You walk the walk, talk the talk?’ I like that phrase, I must write it down once this is all over.”

“You won’t be waiting long,” Andreas murmured. His eyes flicked above the Baroness’ head, noting an aerodynamic profile was defining itself in the clouds above.

His shifting gaze was barely noticeable, but Sharrya seemed to sense his change in demeanour, and she turned her back on him to search for what he was looking for.

That was his chance, and he was out of time. He bolted for the ledge, praying the demoness wouldn’t hit him in the back and send him tumbling to his death.

“What the-? Are you jumping you mad fool?” Sharrya called. She said something else, but Andreas didn’t hear it. All his focus was on crossing the gap.

Leading with his right foot, he planted his boot on the ledge, his toes dangling over the lip. He threw himself into freefall, trying not to look down as he let gravity take hold. He cried out a curse word as his arms whirled in circles, and for a horrible moment it looked like he wouldn’t make it, that he’d plummet to his own death right in front of the Baron’s eyes. A rather unceremonious end, all things considered.

His worries were in vain. Everything from the waist up collided with the adjacent rooftop, his weapons creaking as he pulled himself away from the edge. He flipped onto his back, glancing over the drop to see the Baroness glancing at him, her expression one of mild astonishment.

“Here’s a saying!” Andread called, flipping her the bird. “Eat shit.”

The howling din of a propulsion engine rose into providence, Sharrya finally taking note of the jet fighter diving in from the heavens.

“By the Maykyrs,” Sharrya groaned over the sonic screech. “Not again!”

The wings of the Shrike craft were rowed with bombs, and as the first pairs released from their couplings, Sharrya fell into a run with the same urgency as Andreas had. The jet screamed overhead, a grey blur that left a shimmer in its wake, his helmet automatically muffling the intense feedback of the engine.

The bombs arced through the air for only a second, touching down on the library’s roof. There was a short delay, and then the world was set alight, giant mushroom clouds projecting in synchronised rows behind the fleeing Baroness.

Andreas raised a hand to the scorching heat, watching through his fingers as the Baroness was lifted off her hooves. Whether this was by the shockwave or through the power of her giant legs, he wasn’t sure, but he could be sure of, was that her flightpath was bringing her right toward him.

He rolled to the side, Sharrya hitting his vacated spot with all the force of a dropped forklift. The rooftop of this building wasn’t sturdy enough to survive the weight of the demon, the Baroness yelling out as the surface caved in beneath her.

Andreas would have found the turn of events fortunate, if she hadn’t reached out and grabbed his leg, pulling him through the gap with her.

Gravity carried them into the building, where a second surface soon broke the Baroness’ fall. She formed a crater below her sprawled form, but the carpeted ground didn’t break. Sharrya wheezed as Andreas’ tumble was broken by her stomach, her abs like stones beneath his chest. As his glazed vision slowly cleared, he found himself inches from her chiselled stomach, her flesh slightly pliant beneath his hands. Demon or not, he had to compliment her on her workout regime.

“What are you looking at, mortal?” Sharrya sputtered, short of breath. Realising he was staring, he rolled off her stomach, falling a significant distance to the ground beside her. “Maykyrs, did you – ack – have to land right on me?”

“It’s your fault you fat fuck,” Andreas groaned. He was tired, his chest and arms burned, and now he was hurting all over thanks to this demonette’s stunt. As such, he could only manage to weakly slice her using his newfound cleaver, cutting her arm like he was spreading butter on a slice of toast.

“Ow! Bastard!” She delivered a siwft knee to his flank, sending him rolling away, his momentum carrying him into a cubicle wall. It seemed they’d fallen into some sort of office space.

Her energy depleted, Sharrya meekly used the opposing cubicle to lift herself to a sitting position. Andreas tumbled across the floor towards her, the Baroness rolling her eyes as he raised his cleaver.

“Can you not just give it up for five seconds?” she demanded, seizing his arm and shoving him back. “Damn it, I think that fall gave me a hernia…”

The next time he came at her, she planted her hoof in his chest, depositing him right back into the cubicle. This time he stayed down, pins and needles shooting up his limb as he raised an arm.

“Alright,” he groaned, staring at the gaping wound in the ceiling. Thick smoke trails rose into the sky from the library’s direction, curling at the top as the winds brushed them. “Alright,” he said again. “Time out.”

“That’s the least I deserve after being bombed all dammed day,” the Baroness huffed, her hands roaming to nurse her extremities. “Do you know how much of a toll it takes on the soul to heal such grievous wounds?”

“Cry me a river you fuck,” he muttered.

“So impudent,” Sharrya chuckled, lazing against the wall as she stared at him with those green eyes. She had no irises to speak of, no features, and he found it increasingly difficult to meet her gaze in the following silence.

Andreas fished a vial out of his pack and placed it in the slot under his forearm, the liquid trailing away as the injectors did their work. The silence reached an uncomfortable octave, until the demon decided to break it, folding her arms over her shapely chest.

“It’s rather stuffy in here. Why don’t you remove that helmet?”

“The Hell for?” he asked, the muscles in his chest tensing.

“What?” she asked, tilting her head at the odd phrase. “No, not for Hell, for me. I wish to see your face, properly.”

“I don’t think so, Pinky.”

“My status as Baron affords me every luxury a demon can dream of,” she said, staring him down from her formidable height. “As such, it’s come with the slight caveat that I can get very angry when I don’t get what I want. You don’t want me to anger me, because I might just consider coming over there and ripping off your helmet and your limbs.”

Her tone was off-hand, sweet, but there was a deep hunger in her glowing, emerald eyes, one that made him all too aware that he was conversing with a higher demon of Hell. Her patience wasn’t finite.

“Alright, crazy horns, alright. You want to see my pretty face?”

After a brief pause, he raised his hands to his helmet, the demon’s head tilting once more.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…” Eva whispered.

“Relax, she would have killed me way earlier if she’d wanted.”

“That’s comforting…”

His visor rose from his neck, Andreas setting his helmet on the floor, the hot air washing over his features as Sharrya looked him over with a strange look on her face.

“Hm. Quite the developed little specimen,” she mused. “Nice scar on your chin there, not that I needed proof you aren’t lacking in battle.”

She leaned over, his muscles bleeding tension as she extended one claw his way, pressing it against his cheek. She turned his head to the side, those blazing eyes drinking him in.

“Your complexion is odd,” she noted, grinning when he slapped her finger away. “as is your accent. Are you from this country? This ‘Spain’?”

He considered lying to her, but what was the harm in it really? They’d already spilt one another’s blood, talking about home was rather tame in comparison.

“No, Romania,” he answered. “It’s not much different from this place, mountain chains on one side, the Black Sea on the other. I’d ask about where you’re from,” he added. “but I think I’ve got a good idea on what Hell looks like.”

“I’ll have you know that Hell consists of several differing environments,” she replied, turning her nose up at him. “Each one home to their own unique climes and landmarks, not unlike your own continents and countries.”

“And which of these cesspools were you crapped out of?” he asked.

“We call it Shattered Peaks,” she replied, staring at the ceiling dreamily. “It is a wasteland of blackstone towers rising from pools of lava, interspersed with canyons that run deep into Hell’s blighted heart. Loose rocks tumble from the caps constantly, making treks from peak to peak all the more arduous.”

“Sounds cozy.”

“Oh, it was! There was nothing quite like waking up to see the crimson skies reflecting off the lava lakes and… Oh, you were making a joke,” she noted, flashing him a sideways scowl. “And here I thought we were about to have a conversation that wasn’t us trading insults.”

“And why are we talking?” he asked. “I’m not your friend, and you sure as Hell aren’t mine.”

“I am one of the finest commanders ever spawned from the Peaks,” Sharrya began. “Hundreds of years and thousands of slain foes have seen me rise to the top of the demonic food chain, my authority has even surpassed other Baron’s from time to time.”

“You’ve got an ego, we get it.”

“My point is,” she growled, irritated by his comment. “Once you slice your way to the top, all who would stand in your way are no longer brave enough to try. As such, my status has left me in a position surrounded by those with all the strength of wet tissue paper. Every day sees me accosted by whelps who simp and fawn over me, imps that only grow spines once my back is turned, or cacodemons that… well, you can see how untalkative they are.”

“That must be so fucking bad, having servants drool at your feet. I feel so much for you, really.”

“You see?” she exclaimed. “That is why we are speaking. You are so refreshing! No one has ever talked to me the way you do, Andreas. You don’t shy away from speaking your mind, even if it’s going to be bad for your health. I haven’t felt this compelled to talk since m-my… my…” She creased her lip, masking her stutter behind a devilish grin, but Andreas saw it. Had she just hesitated?

“You intrigue me, Andreas,” she added. “Take that as a curse or a blessing, but either way, take it, use it. Few would ever have the chance.”

“Okay…” he said, skeptically. He wasn’t sure if she was challenging or inviting him into conversing with her, perhaps demons didn’t see a difference. The idea she was toying with him rubbed him the wrong way, but he’d take her words over her fireballs any day.

“How’d you climb up the food chain?” he eventually asked. “I thought Baron’s were automatically the top dogs.”

“Interested in my background, Andreas?” she cooed, crossing her long legs as she settled in. “If you think I was born into prestige, banish the thought. Reward is not given freely out in the Peaks. It is taken. And I was but an insect buzzing at the feet of gods when I was roughly your size,” she said, looking him up and down. “Each day I felt the brush of death, but it is the tribulations of the past that shape us into warriors of the future, and I was not found lacking in the former. Sometimes I went starved for food or souls, but the satisfaction I felt after every small victory was pure bliss.”

“So you liked getting your ass kicked?”

“Like? Of course not, but neither did I hate it, necessarily. There’s a greyness to being a small little newt, progressing herself out of the muck and into the Peaks proper. The challenges were great, but the reward mirrored the effort. What about you?” she asked. “How did you become such a troublesome little soldier?”

“Trying to get state secrets out of me?” he shot back.

“I am merely curious about your odd tactics,” she explained, listing off her points on her claws. “Rather than engage me directly, you employ hit and run attacks, relying on subterfuge and trickery to deal damage, using the shadows and your intimate knowledge of the environment when things go awry. You are like a knife with legs.”

“And this is the part where you say I’m a coward and should fight like a real warrior?” he asked.

“On the contrary, I find your ability to adapt spectacular. You and your whole species are outnumbered more than you think, yet your world has not yet caved despite our predictions. You just refuse to die, Andreas.”

“My friend Eva always said I had a thick skull.”

Sharrya chortled, touching a claw to her mouth as she composed herself.

“Funny little thing, aren’t you? And so stoic, as well. Will you not indulge my curiosity? One warrior to another?”

He was still hesitant to the answer, but in the end he caved. After all, there were no state secrets in his personal life.

“I used to guard demons before I killed them. Security officer for this base out in the Caribbean. Didn’t see much action until a couple subjects’ broke containment. Shot my first demon during the chaos. I evacuated my sector with minimal casualties, and someone up top took notice, cause next thing I knew I was offered special forces training.”

“Talk about a career jumpstart! How did you become a guard?”

“Security officer.”

“Yes, officer. It doesn’t sound so glamorous.”

“Well it was the only gig I could find after failing just about everything else. I tried becoming a lawyer like my brother, but as I said, thick skull.”

“Law-yer?”

“Someone who gives legal advice to people. You know, laws and stuff? Who am I kidding, you don’t have rules where you come from. Anyhow, turns out that whole saying about the pen and the sword was horseshit in my case, because I was much better with a gun in my hand.”

“And so you climbed into the upper echelons of your military? Your story and mine are quite similar…”

“You could say that. Brutal training, but I got paired up with some of the best, and I got some sweet benefits plus a fat check. All worth it.”

“I’m glad you and I have that in common, though I cannot imagine this world’s brutality matches my own. What were your duties as a gua- officer, excuse me.”

“Well, I-”

“He made sure the mortally challenged stayed in their place!”

Sharrya recoiled in shock as she scanned the office. Seeing a demon almost jump out of her skin would have been funny if she wasn’t cradling liquid fire in her hands.

“Who was that?” Sharrya demanded. “Show yourself, interloper! Nobody interrupts my conversations.”

“Interloper?” Eva echoed. “You’re the one on our planet, you manipulative… manipulator!”

“Wow, I’ll have to remember that line,” Sharrya scoffed. “Am I going crazy, or is that voice coming from your helmet?”

“Don’t worry about Eva,” he answered. “She’s my… assistant,” he eventually said. Revealing too much about the AI was a line he wasn’t ready to cross.

“So you were telling the truth, you’re not alone,” Sharrya mused. “And how long have you been perving on our talk, Eva?” she added, gesturing at the helmet. “Eavesdropping is a horrible word where I come from.”

“Unlike warcrimes,” Eva replied. “Seargent, can I have a word? Away from the scary demon lady?”

Shrugging, Andreas stood, swiping the helmet under his arm. He spotted a room sectioned off from the office behind him, and he circled around the cubicles toward it.

“Don’t mind me,” Sharrya called. “I’ll be here, healing my fractures and burns and what have you.”

Glancing back to make sure she hadn’t moved, Andreas stepped into what appeared to be the break room for this place, with a vending machine in one corner and a fridge in the other, the smell of rancid food leaving a foul taste in his mouth.

“Something up, Eva?” he asked.

“Put me on.”

As he slid the helmet over his cranium, the visor closed over his face, cracking against his knuckle that happened to be in its path.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hand. “What was that for?”

“Explain yourself,” Eva demanded.

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Seargent. You are exchanging life stories with a Baron of Hell!” She practically shouted those last three words, his ears ringing as the speakers struggled to compensate. “You’re colluding with the enemy!”

“C-Colluding? It was just a chat!”

“She’s probing you for information! Everything you’ve told her can and will be used against you! Just like in those movies you always go on about. You need to stop before she knows too much about you.”

“I wrangled some stuff out of her too! That whole thing about the Shattered Peaks? Reverse phycology.”

“That’s not what that was,” Eva sighed. “And as fascinating as it is to hear about how a Baron murders her way to a leadership position, I don’t see how that helps us right now. You need to kill her or leave, not chat.”

“That walking chilli pepper is practically invincible, Eva. You saw how she ate those rockets. Unless you want me to use another Shard to wipe her off this Earth…”

“I want you to get away from her. Oh, but look who I’m talking to! Why don’t you go back and relax, talk about the weather maybe? It’s not like we a have a mission to see through.”

“Alright, alright, quit your yapping, we’ll go.”

He reemerged from the break room, making his way back to the Baroness. He considered just giving her the slip, but he didn’t want to test the demoness by being rude. Crazy girls like her didn’t appreciate a guy walking out on them, he knew that from experience.

As he rounded the cubicle wall, there Sharrya was, right where he left her, the demon raising a hand in greeting.

“Ah, there you are, excellent. I was certain I’d have to chase you down again. Now where were we?”

“I think we were about to say our goodbyes,” Andreas replied. “I got places to go, people to see. You do to, I‘d wager, being the authoritative megalomaniac that you are.”

“Is that your idea, or your little girlfriends?”

“Eva and I aren’t an item,” he clarified. “She hasn’t got the body.”

“Like you do?” the AI muttered. The Baroness snorted, and Andreas realised Eva had used the external speakers to include the demon in the exchange.

“I suppose this little truce has gone on long enough,” Sharrya said, her horns brushing the ceiling as she stood. Andreas reached for his weapons, but Sharrya raised a hand. “That’s not what I meant. I’m saying I agree with you, and we both have places to be.”

“You’re not going to stop me?” he asked. “Why the Hell not?”

“You provided me with a few minutes of delicious entertainment. It’s only fitting I repay you with a few minutes of a head start. Call it… being a good sport.”

“Good sport? You serious?”

“Well, I also cannot feel anything from the elbows down, and there’s an odd stabbing sensation in my back. I’m not sure I’d be able to catch you regardless.”

“Don’t expect pity points from me,” Andreas said.

“I’d never dream of it, little prey.”

She must get some sick sense of thrill by continuing this chase between them, but Andreas wasn’t about to complain, she wasn’t the only one who was wounded, and she had the advantage of demonic regeneration. He’d have to tough out his bruises the old-fashioned way.

-xXx-

Sharrya saw the human out of the office, trailing behind him as they worked their way through this strange complex. After quizzing him on its purpose, he explained it was a space where humans did paperwork and filed reports. It sounded too tame for her tastes, she’d have gone crazy if she’d had to sit in one of those cubicles all day.

Soon they arrived at the building’s far side, ducking through an arch leading out onto a veranda, this floor of the building linked to the streets below by a twisting staircase. The human, Andreas, flashed her skeptical glances the whole way, Sharrya taking the chance to appraise him. There was a kind of rugged charm to his visuals, it reminded her of this Baron she’d met many years ago, his skin a patchwork of scars from a life of battle. What might the human look beneath all that armour, she wondered?

His hair was cut to a buzz, the little stems the colour of sand as they waved gently in the night’s wind. She’d seen hair on some of the species she’d fought through interdimensional space, but none were quite as thin and sparse as his. It made him look soft, but his muscular hide said otherwise.

“Well, this is where I leave you,” Andreas began, placing a boot on the first step. He turned to give her a reserved look. “Right? You’re not about to say sike or something?”

“Your reservations are warranted, but misplaced,” she replied. “I am a demon of my word. We can pick up our conversation next time, when I finally best you in battle.”

“In your dreams, pinky,” Andreas replied. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, and then he vanished below the steps. She approached the railing, and saw his figure crossing the street, slipping into an alleyway beyond, his footsteps fading soon after.

Chuckling, she turned her attention to her wounds, her laughter tapering into a groan as a cold stab bloomed from her stomach. The cuts on her arms and legs should have long stitched together by now, her regeneration must be conversing all its energy into keeping her heart beating.

How long had it been since she’d felt this close to death? Not since her early years in the Peaks, and the sensation filled her with a palpable rush of excitement that overruled her pain.

Not only was he a worthwhile opponent, but they’d even had a brief exchange that was a far cry from the usual ministrations she was subjected to. He’d talked, he’d listened to her, and the more she let that sink in, the more her attitude towards the human shifted from enemy to… something quite different.

She needed to ponder on this. She also desperately needed to heal, but one thing at a time.

“In my dreams, hmm?” she muttered to nobody. “We’ll see about that…”

-xXx-

Otherworldly energies rippled around her body, blurring the lines between the real and the unreal. Stepping through portals was a jarring experience for the uninitiated, but Sharrya had gone through hundreds of teleports before, the sensation irking her no more than a random itch in one’s skin. The unpleasant memory of her first portals was something she’d rather leave dead and buried, but foul memories always found a way to worm themselves to the forefront.

She had cried, she remembered. It had been her first instance of weeping, and not her last either. She was weak back then, a fact that had been berated into her mind by her less dispositioned kin. As a prank, one of the other whelps had tossed her through a breach leading into the Burning Abyss. Her sobs had been drowned out by the laughter of those witnessing her plight.

Her fists clenched hard enough she sliced her palms with her claws, but the sting of pain helped to drive the recollections back. She stepped away from the energies forming an aura before her, and the crimson darkness gave way to the atrium basing her cathedral.

She was pleased to see there had been changes in her absence. The acolytes were in their proper places, summoning circles brimming with sinful energies, the chants of her followers forming a comfortable tumult.

The steep, gothic walls of the atrium penned in the yard from three sides, some of the sentries posted along the watchtowers turning to give her looks of astonishment. The steps of her cathedreal took up the fourth side, its surface brimming with spikes buttresses and twisting support spires. She forgot how far it pierced into the sky from the ground, like an eternal vertice of ebony.

Noting she had a gawking audience, she sneered at a group of passing acolytes, turning her fiery eyes on them.

“What are you looking at, festering filth bags?” The startled group pushed each other out of the way as they fled the scene, Sharrya’s mood souring as she watched them go. Andreas wouldn’t have batted an eye at that, he would never have been so apprehensive.

“My Baroness!”

Speaking of which, she spotted her faithful priest making his way down the cathedral steps, pausing before her hooves to offer a breathless welcome.

“You’ve returned,” he said, bowing cordially. “As I always knew you would.”

“Indeed,” she replied. “I see you have not been lacking in my time away.”

“My mistress blesses me with her kindness,” the priest replied. “May she also bless me with news from the front? News has been slow to travel since the link to the nest was severed.”

“It has been more than severed. The nest is lost,” she said, her posture deflating a little. “As is most of the standing forces in the area. A lone human has intruded upon the territory and sowed utter chaos.”

“A… A single soul?” the priest asked, turning away when she scowled at him. “I do not mean to question your findings, my Baroness, but a single, meddlesome human cannot be responsible for such impudence! There must be others.”

“Perhaps, but he is the only one I laid eyes on,” she explained. “His abilities confound me just as much. I’ve not seen a mortal rip and tear into my ranks like he did.”

“I assume my esteemed mistress tortured his soul for his meddling?” the priest asked. “If you wish, I can have his remains serve as a base for a new summoning ritual. An eternity of suffrage would lay in store for him…

The idea of Andreas’ body rotting in a pentagram stirred something inside her, no longer holding the same glee as before.

“He… escaped my clutches,” Sharrya explained. She quickly added: “As in, I let him go of my own accord. In hopes he would lead me to his accomplices in time.”

“A wise course of action!” he replied, switching his demeanour as Sharrya tried not to strangle him. “Offing a mortal so quickly would have sullied our chances of seizing additional souls.”

“Indeed, yes…”

“By the scars on your flawless form I see this mortal has wounded you,” the priest continued. “Do you require my aid? My most accomplished chanters are ready to invigorate you.”

“Keep your insidious enchantments as far from me as possible,” she snapped, making for the cathedral. “I will heal on my own, I simply wish to rest.”

“Of course, my Baroness. I’ve taken the liberty to purge a few dozen of the weak who’d failed to stop the gore nest’s… demise. Their souls are burning on the pyres, you shall find you will regenerate rather quickly during the night’s course.”

The air was thick with lost souls, their energies drawn to her need like moths to flame. While she regretted the losses on her legions, who could blame them for fleeing such a costly battle, they served her better by repairing her corporeal form.

The priest waddled behind her as she mounted the steps, the giant doors parting like toothed lips as she entered the vaulted foyer. Two arch-viles stood guard just inside, the demons bowing their heads as she walked between them.

“My Baroness,” the priest started. “If I may be so bold as to enquire, what do you know of this lonesome mortal? “

“He’s a Seargent,” she explained as she walked. “Male, twenty to thirty years old. Originally from the Romania.”

“That’s… very perceptive of you,” the priest murmured. He was clearly confused by how she knew such things, but of course he didn’t question them. “He seems very capable to have caused you great bodily harm…”

She granted the priest a modicum of her respect. She didn’t think he had the balls to say she was hurt out loud. Today was full of surprises.

“He possesses several heavy armaments,” she said. “And if quite proficient of them. Why do you ask, priest?”

“I have a theory on this mortal’s identity. I have not been part of your retinue for long, but I have studied the history of Hell extensively. I know of very few humans who could be so capable of destroying a nest singlehandedly.”

She paused in her march, making a go on gesture.

“Do you think this mortal is… him?”

“Speak plainly, priest, who is ‘him’?”

“Could you have encountered the…” He glanced about the lobby, as though worried of being overheard. “The Slayer, my Baroness?”

Sharrya opened her mouth to retort, then closed it. The one they feared, here, in her domain? She recalled what she knew of him: the Slayer was a human who’d almost brought down the entirety of Hell eons ago, her dimension only spared thanks to a trap that had seen the human sealed within a crypt. A crypt that had gone missing not long ago.

Could the Slayer and Andreas be one and the same? No. If the stories were true, she would have never returned once she’d gone through the portal. One Baron was child’s play to a monster like the Slayer…

“Nonsense,” she eventually said. “This mortal may be just as dangerous, but he is more like… the discount Slayer. He is vicious, but he bleeds and tires like the rest of us.”

“You are right as always,” the priest said. “I was only theorising.”

Twisting ramps and looming archways flanked the aisle she strode across, her hooves rubbing on a crimson carpet that decorated the citadel’s atrium. Eighty-two rooms comprised her fortress, and while she had mapped each one off by heart, she only frequented three or four. The arrays of torturing rooms, ritual chambers, and blood rooms that were crucial to keeping her kind from decaying in this alien dimension were beneath her, literally and figuratively, as most of those deplorable archways led to the underground levels where the possessed where quartered.

The upper levels were for her most trusted legion commanders and the proven elite, and they were accessed by a twisting staircase winding up the cathedral’s black heart. The echoing rattles of chains and screams of scuffling demons slowly diminished with each step risen, until silence reigned and Sharrya could hear her own thoughts.

Usually she would step off on the next floor and proceed to her war room, where should would plan for her next campaign. Her priest, ever the servile specimen, took the liberty of opening the door to said room once they arrived, but she responded to his assumption by continuing her climb.

“My Baroness?” he called after her. “Do we not plan to address the many issues plaguing us? The duty of Hell calls…”

“And I’ll answer,” she said. “after I obtain a shred of rest and quiet. The day has been long and tiresome.”

“Of course. Shall I send a report to your chambers later?”

“I will tolerate no interruptions for the next six hours,” she growled. “If I hear so much as a tap from your overgrown toes, I’ll rip them off.

That was the last thing they said to one another as Sharrya climbed to the next floor. Her cathedral was a hundred storeys tall, it’s inscrutable height designed to impose dread upon any who looked upon it. The only thing ‘imposed’ upon Sharrya in that moment was annoyance that the designers hadn’t seen fit to install a lift.

When she arrived at the appropriate floor, she stepped off, passing by a flickering scone as she moved through a short hallway, ended by a pair of doors built to accommodate her size. She shoved them apart, then snapped them closed behind as she stepped into her chambers.

Her private sanctuary was furnished with upscaled lounges cradled around a gothic desk, its surface strewn with a number of alien curios she’d absconded from the dimensions she’d warred upon. There was a claw made from chitin plates in one display, a green crystal that glowed with an eerie energy in another, and a black scale she’d ripped from a rather savage winged reptile.

There was a mantle reserved for the dimension she was currently occupying, but she’d failed to find a relic worthy of occupying the exhibit. Perhaps Andreas’ helmet could fit the bill?

Huffing, she stalked past the lounge, stepping round a writing desk messed with parchments and ink pots, a couple of its drawers half-opened. She’d been told once that putting her thoughts to paper was a fine way to reflect during her downtime – an event that had become more prevalent as of late. It was proof that not all of the priest’s words were just drivel.

At the far end of the room was a mattress resting on an upraised foundation, cornered with beams that joined the bed to the ceiling. Dark drapes could be drawn between the posts to provide privacy, but Sharrya had never needed them. This room was for her use alone.

Her hooves clicked on the black tiles as Sharrya turned, and plopped onto her bed in a very un-Baron like way, letting all the events of the day pass through her in a breathy sigh. So many clashing emotions battled in her chest. Anger, frustration, dread, confusion, but most of all, relief. Relief that this room was now owned by one who wasn’t twiddling her claws all day, writing nonsense as the war waged on without her input.

She stared at the chandelier suspended over the chamber, placing a hand behind her head and wincing as pain stabbed through her side. Her skin was still matted with scars from Andreas’ many weapons, but they would regenerate quickly now that she was within the unnatural energies surrounding her cathedral. Her wounds weren’t the only casualty of the day. Her gore nest was gone, a significant portion of her operations going with it, plus she’d loose standing with her legions once word spread that she’d been defeated by a mortal, yet she was giddy with excitement all the same. Never since her first journeys into the greater cosmos had she met an alien who could best her, not just once but twice…

“You’ve done irreparable damage to me, my forces, and undid months of corruption in the blink of an eye.” She placed a palm on her belly as tingles swept through her core. “You have made me feel alive.”

Her thoughts turned to their little talk in that office building. It had taken some persuading, but Andreas had listened to her, purely for the sake of wanting to converse, the notion making her heart swell. Was calling it an act of kindness on his part a stretch? Certainly. But regardless, he now knew more about her personal life than any other, mortal or not.

The lines between war and passion were blurred in her mind. The two went hand-in-hand among her kin, and Baron courtship revolved around duelling with your potential interest to ensure they were strong and capable. During her ascent through the demonic ranks, she had drawn the eye of many prospective mates.

She’d been young, full of herself, and had passed from mate to mate just as Hell bounced from dimension to dimension. Good foresight on her part, as there had never been time to court since she’d left Hell for conquest.

That tingly feeling continued its journey south, her loins experiencing a libidinous pang. To say she was pent up would be an understatement, and the tribulations of the day had only resurfaced such tensions. Six hours. Plenty of time to burn it off.

She slipped a finger beneath her loincloth, parting her thighs as she lowered the flimsy cloth, exposing her toned mound. Shifting against the cushions, she wiggled the underwear gently down her legs, then kicked them away once it looped across her hooves.

She exposed pink, glistening flesh as she caressed her genitals, taking care to keep her hooked claws clear. A bead of her fluids wetted her finger as she dragged a digit up and down her puffy lips, Sharrya chewing her lower lip as her own touch sent sparks up her spine.

She mumbled some self-depreciating comment to herself as the pad of her finger brushed her clitoris, her hips rubbing together in time with her finger strokes. Rubbing one off alone was unbecoming of her. Current posting notwithstanding, she was a Baron of the ages, her name was known throughout countless dimensions. Baron’s would pay to sleep with her, yet here she was, rubbing one off all by herself.

Closing her eyes, she focused on the shape of her bud, trying to conjure up a more erotic scene. She was back in the Shattered Peaks, leaping across a gaping crevasse that divided the lands between her clan and a rival’s. She was leading two dozen of her kin against two dozen others, Baron’s leaping out of trenches to meet her charge, countless fireballs crisscrossing the skies.

She was the tip of the spear, exchanging blows with Baron after Baron, before the rival clan sent out their own champion to subdue her. This imaginary Baron was thick with muscle and had short horns. She always liked how cute little stubby horns looked. His rippling muscles flexed as he harried her with savage attacks, enough of her blood spilling to make her lightheaded.

His fingers viced over her neck as he caught her in a grapple, choking the life out of her. Her gathered soldiers watched on with troubled expressions, had she met her equal?

Her imaginary rival growled as she kicked him in the chest, grabbing his face and shoving him into the black dirt. He never pleaded mercy, even as she pressed her claws to his jugular, and she liked that about this would-be champion.

Her excitement mounted as she crouched over the muscular Baron, that itching need deep inside her being sated as she took the Baron right then and there. She tried to imagine the shape of his rod filling her insides, but the image was hard to sell if she couldn’t insert her finger.

She pinched an eye open as the far-off sound of screeching echoed up the stairwell, followed closely by a pair of rushing feet travelling downward. The cacodemons must be feasting upon one another again. Either that, or her cathedral was under attack.

Who would be so stupid as to try that? She thought, chuckling to herself as she closed her eyes and continued to finger herself.

When she returned to her fantasy, it began to shift. Now she was back in these very chambers, only that demonic scream was much closer, its length drawing into seconds until the piercing screech was cut off by the crack of a gunshot.

Such a cue would have brought Sharrya straight into action, yet her dream-self could only sit up lazily, sopping hand poised over her drenched crotch, as the doors to her room were thrown open with all the force of a charging cyberdemon.

And yet, no demon had dared to intrude upon her most private of places. Emerging from the hallway beyond was Seargent Andreas. Was his armour black, or grey? Regardless, the ceramic plates clung to his diminutive, but developed musculature with a wonderful tightness, accentuating his build. His gauntlets were absent, the sleeves of his jumpsuit rolled up to the elbow, exposing his tanned skin. His eyes, as dark as his attire, looked her over through no visor medium, as his helmet was also gone. He’d never go without his equipment, but her imagination thought up the excuse he’d lost it somewhere along his ascent.

“Hi there, bitch of Hell,” he said, swinging his plasma gun onto a shoulder. His gaze wandered from her eyes, to her chest, and then settled on her crotch. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

Sharrya gawked, first at him, then at herself. Sher rosy folds were all on display for the human, the Baroness spread-eagled like some needy beast in need of a rut. Not the most inaccurate description, all things considered.

“Y-You…” She forced her lip to stop trembling, composing herself as she launched off her bedding, squaring off with the human. “Why have you come here? Tired of living?”

“Tired of you, you great, pink, bovine-looking dumbass. I never leave a fight half-finished.”

“Ever the poetic,” she said, conjuring two fireballs in her hands. She beckoned to him with the left. “You want an end to things? Give it your all.”

She tossed her fireballs across the room, sprinting across the tiles as Andreas hosed the room with plasma. She raised her arms defensively as bolts slammed into her front, leaving scorch marks along her forearms.

She did not falter under the barrage as he expected, Andreas dodging aside as she swiped at him with her claws, missing him by a hair’s inch. He stepped into her blind spot, suing his rifle like a club and driving the stock into her knee. She growled in pain as she sent him reeling with a backhand across his chin. Such an attack would have crushed his skull, but in her imagination, the blow only caused a trickle of blood to escape the corner of his lip.

He stumbled against her writing deck, his eyes flicking from her to the chair. He lifted the furniture by its wooden legs, arms bulging as he raised it over his head, crashing it over her waist where it shattered into several pieces.

Pain blurred her vision, Sharrya cracking her neck as her opponent drew a wicked knife from its scabbard, the same one he’d used when they’d first battled. The sting of wounds was vivid in her mind, her finger rubbing faster as her heartrate climbed.

“First you, then your whole base,” Andreas snarled. “Come on!”

She met his challenge with a demonic growl, closing the distance between them in a blink. She seized him by the shoulders, tossing him like a sack of bricks across the room. One of the lounges snapped in twain as he landed upon its back, but even that wasn’t enough to dissuade the mortal, his eyes glaring up at her as he rose from the ground, wiping the blood from his face.

She held back as Andreas worked up the strength to stand, grinning down at him as he came at her, knife slashing. He interspersed his weapon strikes with punches from his fists, and while his initiative was punishing, she was a Baron of Hell, and a swift kick to his stomach knocked the wind out of him, and a follow-up grab of his neck got her control of the fight.

“I have you now,” she breathed, her head snapping to the left as Andreas decked her in the face. “You just never give up, don’t you?”

“You like that about me, huh? Sharrya?” he replied, a cocky grin on his face. A shiver coursed through her upon hearing her own name. Nobody had ever referred to her in such a familiar way since her childhood tormentors.

“Yes,” she sighed. “I like your spirit, I like your tenacity, I like your… everything. I cannot seem to banish you from my thoughts.”

“I’ve got that effect on chicks,” he said, his grin remaining even as she dangled his feet above the floor.

“Then allow me to return the favour,” she said, wetting he lips with her tongue. “You shall get to see what effect I have on those I find… intoxicating.”

Holding him like a freshly-won prize, she sauntered towards the bed, the real Sharrya upping the pace of her rubbing as her excitement crossed a new threshold. She’d always held an inkling of fascination for alien biology, yet she had never considered such deliciously taboo acts until she first set eyes on the human form.

Unlike most of the strange lifeforms that inhabited the Universe, human body plans were familiar in some ways, but also exotic in others. They were furry all over, with skin that was as soft as bedsheets, their endearing height putting them at roughly waist-level to a Baron.

She tossed Andreas onto the mattress, the human scrambling away as she brought one knee onto the bed, then the other. Putting on the air of a hunting predator, she crawled over the sheets on all fours, sliding over his body until she could plant her hands above his shoulders, trapping him within her limbs.

“Nowhere left to run,” she cooed, his breath washing over her face as she leered over him. “I said you would be mine, did I not?”

The true length of her tusks exposed as she smiled down at him, Andreas turning his head away as he braced for the oncoming bite, inadvertently exposing his neck. Sharrya brought her face to his, glancing his flesh with her pink tongue, his taste making her shudder. His salty perspiration was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she craved more of it for some reason.

She followed the lick with a more tender bite, her tusks pinching into his skin, leaving red marks that almost drew blood, Andreas’ breathing growing unsteady.

“So tender,” she whispered. “I should bite you on every inch of your body, pay you back for all the suffrage you’ve caused. Unless you’re into such kinks, hmm?”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, writhing in her bed as she grazed his cheek with her tongue. Her bed. At last, she had another to share the seat of her cathedral. No longer would she brood in this room in unbecoming isolation.

“Fuck me?” she echoed. “So forward. Let’s not race to the finish line just yet. I must sate some curiosities first…”

She turned her attention to his chest, straddling his waist as she gripped the two ends of the armour. She ripped it off like she was tearing off a band aid, and while the armour was probably more complex to get in and out of, this was her fantasy, and it demanded his undressing.

His hairy chest exposed, Sharrya chuckled like a girl unwrapping a present as she admired his scars, a trait she found admirable in male bodies. Andreas shivered as she raked his skin with her claws, his muscles flexing beneath her claws. His smaller frame meant he was so very receptive, it was downright adorable.

She tested his arms by curling them in her hands, dream-Andreas offering no resistance to her examinations. His biceps were a little bigger than they really were, but she’d long abandoned such realities, her attentions soon lowering to his waist.

She’d seen drawings of human anatomy, there was a copy of said illustration in the writing desk in this very room (inside the locked compartment of course. Can never be too careful). Human members were comprised of smooth skin, slightly curved, with a head shaped somewhat like a helmet.

Sitting on his legs, she gauged his reaction as she touched his tip between her thumb and index, rubbing it between her fingers and making the human twitch. He averted from her gaze, staring of at some feature of the room while she grappled with his slightly squishy rod.

“You look so cute when you resist me,” she cooed, her fingers – both real and imagined – moving faster as a bead of fluid appeared at the slit on his tip. “How long can you keep fighting, I wonder?”

He shot her a hateful look, and she laughed, moving further down his legs until her rump settled on his feet. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she leaned down, gracing his alien cock with a soft kiss, making sure her tusks were kept clear. This was a prize she did not want to ruin.

Andreas made a sound that was something between a curse and a growl, Sharrya crawling her lips down and sealing his tip within her mouth. As much as she craved Andreas’ spirit, it was both a challenge and an aphrodisiac. She wanted to break him, make him reciprocate her interest. How she longed to be the target of someone else’s attentions…

Like his flesh, the drops of his excitement were like fine wine on her tastebuds, Sharrya lapping them up with her tongue as she subjected him to her attentions. Her chambers were filled with the sounds of her slurping and his sighs, Sharrya reaching up with her free hand to draw the bed curtains. It wasn’t that they needed the privacy, but something about the restrictive drapes helped to seal them in her own little world.

She shivered as two hands placed themselves on the base of her horns, Sharrya chuckling around his length as she saw Andreas reaching for her. She rewarded his compliance by cupping a hand around the two sacks dangling below his rod, the orbs especially sensitive if his groans were any proof.

She wanted him to pull her horns, and he obeyed her silent request, shivers roiling through her skull as he pulled her down his length, taking more of his flesh into her throat.

When she felt his rising need, she relented, sliding away from his member with a slick pop, wiping the saliva from her lips as Andreas frowned up at her.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I’ve shown you my appreciation, now it’s your turn…”

Indecision wracked his features as she slid up the bedsheets once again, her furry thighs settling on either side of his head, her naked crotch meeting his face. His cheeks blushed as she stroked his fuzzy hair, his hot breath warming her sensitive mound.

“You think I’m going to… service you?” he asked, his doubtful tone betrayed by his curious looks at her abs and thighs.

“I don’t think, I know. You’ve admired me since we first met, I’ve seen it. My body is a work of envy compared to your human women, and I’m all but giving it to you.”

She could see his arousal for her was overpowering his pensiveness, and eventually it won out, Sharrya uttering a comely whine as he kissed her between her rows of abs. His tongue may be sharp in life, but in her dream it was wonderfully smooth as it traced the channels of her flesh.

“You’re… You’re right,” he muttered, his lips moving to plant a sucking hiss on her hip. “For once,” he added in an attempt to save face. “It’s been tough trying to fight a gorgeous cunt like you. Dick and brain are always arguing.”

“Argue no longer,” she said. “Let your base desires run wild, mortal.”

Now she was the one twitching as his lips glanced her mound, Andreas tasting the fluffy fur protecting the treasure between her legs. His fingers clutched over her thighs from below, his digits sinking into her coat. Without claws, he could be as rough as he wanted, Andreas failing to disappoint as he groped and seized her ample cheeks.

There was a wonderful few minutes of teasing as Andreas mouthed around her loins, his tongue occasionally glancing the edge of her sopping lips, her furry legs of particular interest in him. She’d always kept her coat in pristine condition, washing it before every endeavour into the field, and she knew Andreas couldn’t resist its texture. Surely he was interested in how it felt? She might even indulge him if he ever asked…

Sharrya had never been given head before, it wasn’t something Baron’s could do comfortably with their tusks, but she could imagine having that warm, smooth organ brushing her sensitive depths, his organ more flexible than a cock could ever be. How wonderful it would be to feel it curling against her walls, drawing shapes that would send her plummeting into a mewling mess. What would she experience if such a silky-smooth thing were to glance her clitoris? Nothing short of bliss, no doubt…

She let her depraved thoughts go wild as she considered what else this clawless, fangless human could do with her. Scratch that, for her, she wasn’t about to let a mortal make her his plaything, although her wild imaginings put doubts on the matter.

Sharrya pushed the pad of her finger into her clitoris, Andreas mirroring her intents as his questing organ lapped at her hood of flesh. She flipped over until she was laying face-first against the mattress, mumbling into a pillow as she ground her hips against her hand.

The movement took her briefly out of her fantasy, and when she returned, things had changed. Andreas had reversed their positions, their waists lined up, her knees towering beside his head as he thrust between her legs, his hands roaming all over her belly and chest.

This was madness. The little human didn’t have the strength to put her on her back… did he? Their bout in that decayed park was a firm reminder that such a thing wasn’t completely out of the question.

Andreas gripped her hips tightly as he mounted her, his pistoning hips causing her to physically move up the bed. An aching need rose up through her core, her tunnel shaking with the anticipation of the nearing finale.

Her imagined moans joined with Andreas’ in a tumult of discarded inhibitions, the pair mating in an earnest that even made the Baroness’ cheeks blush. That surge in her nethers bloomed into a body-wide quake, Sharrya’s mouth opening to let slip a gasp as her orgasm took over her faculties. The illusion shattered as she stared holes into the cushions, the first wave of her climax shocked every muscle in her waist and stomach.

A furious stroke of her finger prolonged her bliss, Sharrya snorting like a beast as she lost control of her faculties, beads of green flame blooming between her fingers. It was a good thing she was immune to her own powers, or she’d be in a world of pain and humiliation.

Tension gave way to soothing relief as her orgasm eased away, the Baroness collapsing into the bed, trying to envision the feeling of having Andreas’ load entering her quivering womb, such decadence making her eyes roll behind her closed eyelids.

She must have sat there for minutes before she worked up the will to come to, Sharrya planting her hooves on the tiles as she sat up on the bed’s edge. Her hand felt glued to her nethers, Sharrya raising her arm to see her own nectar webbing her digits.

Satisfaction bloomed through her, but it was tinged with embarrassment. Her high standards had kept her from falling into obscurity, what was she thinking, fantasising about bedding with a mortal? She could have anyone! Her servants would come to her like dogs obeying their master if she wished to be bedded. She’d spent too much time on this world…

And yet, she didn’t want loyal dogs, she wanted… something more. Andreas was stubborn, strong, but there was more to it than shallow observations. He’d taken the time out of his day to talk with her, he knew things about her, and likewise, she knew things about him. The seeds of a connection had been sown.

If she could get him alone again, make him give her more of his… everything, she may be able to get her thoughts in order. She would have to spread word that he was not to be harmed, but subdued. Such orders would need a good explanation, but for now, Sharrya settled back on the sheets, pulling the covers over her half-naked body. Six hours of rest. That should help settle her frazzled mind.

-xXx-

Navigating the city at night was a daunting task. The only light to see by came from the occasional streak of crimson electricity striking down from the low-hanging cloud layer, the resulting brightness as dim as a darkroom safelight.

Andreas’ night vision helped to offset the darkness, but navigating the endless back alleys and metal streets wasn’t much easier when everything was a gloomy shade of green. If it wasn’t for Eva and her suite of sensors and markers, he’d be literally fumbling through the dark.

The sounds of dozens of undead echoed from down the next street, Andreas taking a detour to avoid the lurking demons. He’d never been one to shy away from a fight, but engaging these beasts in the dead of night was something he was dreading. Everything was so still and quiet, a single gunshot would bring all of Hell down on his position.

Such a thing hadn’t concerned him before, but he’d made a fool of Baroness Sharrya and her enterouge, he had to assume she was gunning for him now.

Hours had come and gone since he and the demoness had their little chat, but his thoughts lingered on it all the same. Since when did demons show restraint in their thirst for blood? Was she unique among demonkind, or were all Baron’s so proud and aloof? Unique was one of few words he could use to describe Sharrya. He had never seen a female demon before, but she was just as imposing as her male counterparts, skirting ten feet tall and sporting more strength in her stomach than Andreas had in his whole body.

Despite her physicality, there was a certain streamlined quality to her form, her curves more pronounced thanks to her upscale features. He remembered how long her legs had been back in that office, how they were covered in a sort of wool or fur that was a deep brown colour, giving them a soft texture. Then there was her rucksack-sized breasts which he had found his eyes drawn to more than he cared to admit. She was one big woman. Shame she was a demon, she was nice on the eyes.

And a pleasant conversationalist, apparently, his thoughts turning to their chat. Whatever reason she had to prompt a lull in their rivalry was beyond him. He had quizzed Eva on that matter a couple minutes after the baroness’ had let him go, and her response had been less than helpful.

“I’m still trying to comprehend why you even entertained a conversation. She’s trying to destroy your world, Seargent.”

“Come on, Eva, weren’t you even a little bit curious on what she had to say? Who’s ever had a chit-chat with a demon before?”

“The circumstances were…. unusual,” Eva muttered, as though saying the word caused great effort. “But that gives you no reason to be so… flippant! Be careful what you say to her, the demonic will use anything they can do to string you along, manipulate you.”

“That’s not Sharrya’s style,” Andreas mused.

“Look! You’re calling her by her name! I’m detecting strong Stockholm syndrome signals right now. She’s your enemy, Andreas, don’t forget that.”

“Eva, how many demons have I killed?”

“Since I’ve made this helmet my long-term residence? You’re a few dozen from the eight-hundred mark…”

“If that’s not proof I know who’s my enemy, then I don’t know what is.”

“I suppose so. I’m just worried, Andreas.”

“You’re worried? I’m the one knee-deep in corruption behind enemy lines, Eva. At night, may I add! I’m about one zombie jumpscare away from shitting my pants.”

The AI chuckled, which seemed to relieve some of her tension. His too, by extent. Her voice was designed to be nice to listen to.

“But like I always say,” he said, pausing to jump across a deep split in the road. “I’ll handle it.”

Andreas marched on through the streets, his suit working overtime to keep him warm as the air temperature continued to drop by the hour. Eva’s markers kept him moving in the right direction. The more north he went, the denser the buildings became, growing taller and taller until Andreas was weaving between skyscrapers.

There was an odd lack of demonic presence in the area, despite him being close to the city centre. There was the occasional pack patrolling the roads or infesting the buildings, but far less than what Andreas had seen thus far. Strange.

He was proceeding through the lobby of a skyscraper, surrounding all sides by glass walls, when Eva hummed in thought.

“What is it?” he asked, holding his plasma rifle ready. “You got something?”

“On the contrary, I’m detecting a distinct lack of thermal signatures ahead. So far the corruption has made it difficult to filter out, but now it’s… absent.”

His boot echoing through the lobby, he made his way to the other side, stepping through a revolving door and back into the outdoors. Before him, a small ramp led down to a street, the road spearing below a highway overpass before continuing on between two rows of apartment blocks, their roof jutting over the road at various heights.

There was something a short walk down the street. Or rather, there was a lack of something.

Since his departure of the crash site, pink flesh and mangled tendrils poured itself over every surface, but now this endless sprawl of corruption had come to a sudden stop. The flesh here gave way to cracked, unimpeded concrete, the world beyond this threshold taking on a semblance of normalcy.

Andreas walked up to the visible barrier of demonic flesh, peering down at the rough line it made across the street. Upon closer inspection, he could see the glistening meat was receding, creeping along the ground in the direction he’d come from, making minute squelching sounds as the meat clenched in on itself.

“Is it… dying?” Andreas asked, looking up and imagining how many square miles the flesh must have covered. “How?”

“It’s because of you, Andreas. When you destroyed that gore nest, the corruption mustn’t have been able to sustain itself, and is wilting away. At this rate, this entire portion of the city will be cleansed in a matter of days.”

“Assuming old Sharrya crazy-horns doesn’t plant another one, or however the fuck they make those things.”

“Judging by her strong reaction, the process must take up significant resources on Hell’s part. We’ve already seen a distinct lack of coordination in this district, so targeting Hell’s infrastructure may be a more efficient strategy in dealing with the invasion.”

The dying corruption left behind a ruinous landscape of shattered brick and rubble, but that didn’t deter Andreas from feeling a surge of hope. Almost eighty percent of the planet’s surface was covered in corruption, Andreas had not seen a blade of grass in months, but it felt good to know his efforts were having an impact, that it was still possible to reclaim everything that Hell had taken.

“Maybe we can win this,” Andreas muttered, stepping over the carpet of flesh, his boots making a satisfying clock as they struck pure pavement. Beyond him lay a scene like something out of an apocalyptic movie, but at least it was flesh-free. Even the skies had taken on a less oppressive feel, though that might have just been the gentle return of sunlight warping his vision. He’d been walking all night, and was dead-tired as a result, but even with the lack of corruption, sleeping out here was a danger he wasn’t willing to risk.

The drugs Eva was pumping into him would keep him on his feet for his next – and hopefully last – leg of his journey. He was getting closer to the heart of the city, and the Rallypoint by extension. Then his true mission could begin.”

Leaving the corruption behind him, he set off, weapons and gear jiggling with each stride.

-xXx-

“Seargent! I’m getting a transmission from the Rallypoint base commander. She wants to speak with you. It’s good news, don’t worry.”

Eva’s sudden voice startled him. Andreas walking for hours without much small talk or action, and it was starting to trouble him. Sharrya had made it very clear that he was on her shit list, she should have made a move at him by now. He liked to think the lack of corruption had made him harder to track, but he doubted the stubborn demonette would give up so easily.

Keeping an eye on his surroundings, he brought up his wrist display, tapping a gloved finger against the screen. “Alright, put her through.”

“Seargent? Seargent Andreas? Come in, this is Commander Velaria, over.”

The person coming through his speakers rolled her r’s, her tone like nails scratching at a chalkboard. He could tell this woman meant business.

“This is Andreas, I read you. It’s good to hear your voice, Commander. Was getting lonely out here, over.”

“I can imagine. Your companion tells me you’ve been keeping busy out there, doing what a battalion of my men could not. Never had believed it if she hadn’t transmitted a video of you blowing that nest to Hell, if you’ll pardon the expression. Over.”

“All part of the job description, over.”

“Ah, you’re the humble kind of hero, Seargent? Normally I’d say I don’t need heroes, but morale around here’s now at an all-time high. Gracias a Dios. We were getting desperate before you ARC boys arrived. Over.”

“The rest of my section, did they make it to you?” Andreas asked, a touch of concern in his tone.

“Your men touched down just fine,” Valeria replied, Andreas relaxing. “It was just your ship that didn’t make it. What of your squad? What’s their status?”

“They didn’t make it. Pilot’s dead, too. I’m the last one.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Seargent. I know what it’s like, losing your men like that. I’ll see to it they’re buried with national honours when there’s time, you have my word.”

“Appreciate it, Commander. So Eva said you had some good news for me? We could use some right about now.”

“I’ve sent out a team to meet you halfway,” Valeria explained. “From their last check-in they’re about twenty minutes north of your position. I’ve given their frequency to your AI, they’ll be in contact soon.”

“Appreciate the assist, Commander.”

“Stay safe out there. Over and out.”

“It’s a good thing the demons haven’t targeted our satellite communications yet,” Eva noted as he lowered his display. “We’d be picking up nothing but dead air beneath all these buildings.”

“I was almost starting to forget what human contact felt like,” Andreas mused. “No offence to you personally, Eva.”

“Yes, you’re more familiar with demon ladies at this point,” she shot back.

Eva’s markers continued to lead him deeper into the urban sprawl, Andreas soon finding himself clambering over a short wall. He tossed his plasma rifle over, then climbed after it, soon finding himself on a stretch of highway. Following the overpass would put them in a beeline straight for Valeria’s reinforcements.

He followed the faded white lines through the condensed ghost traffic, the cars so crammed together that at times, he had to use the car wrecks as a substitute for the ground. It was liberating in some ways to be above the streets, but the view as anything but pleasant.

When the skyscrapers broke up enough to provide a view, Andreas was greeted with a destructive vista. Sights of the East were choked with demonic corruption, more gore nests no doubt concealed within the rubble. The sprawling ruins were nothing he hadn’t seen before, but there were details in the rubble that could only be viewed from a vantage. He could pick out crimson strokes in the earth, like giant paintbrush strokes carved directly into the city blocks. What he’d mistaken for ravines were actually parts of a greater symbol, spanning hundreds of square meters. Its meaning was unreadable, but he didn’t have to be a cultist to know they were demonic in nature.

As much as Andreas was eager to meet his backup, his legs were killing him, the Seargent pausing to sit on the hood of a car. There was an extendable straw in the lower left hand of his vision, hooked up to the suit’s water tank so he could drink without removing his helmet.

As he quenched his thirst, the hair on his arms stood up, Andreas overcome with the feeling he was being watched. Despite her state-of-the-art sensor suite, Eva only noted something was off a few moments later.

“There’s a spike in demonic energy below us,” she warned. “It could be coincidence, but…”

The implication was left hanging as Andreas glanced back the way he’d come, searching the cars for movement. All he saw was a couple bundles of paper scraping against the concrete.

He turned the other way, and nearly jumped out of his skin when something large and red climbed over the highway’s flank, Sharrya grinning at him as she stalked onto the road just ahead of him.

“If it isn’t my favourite Baroness of Hell,” Andreas greeted, pausing to swallow his drink. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“Do not worry,” she replied sweetly. “Once I have you properly restrained, you won’t be anywhere but in my clutches, Andreas. And this time, you’re not getting away.”

Claws clicked against stone as several figures scaled over the highway’s railings, taking up positions around the demoness. Ten, eleven, twelve imps snarled and snickered as they prepared fireballs, and yet more were coming, a portal framing Sharrya’s curvaceous body as it bloomed open behind her, disgorging eight or nine more imps from its confines.

Andreas stood in motionless astonishment as the demon’s numbers doubled, tripled, the helltide forming a cordon of burning flames and gnashing teeth on all sides. The highway spanned maybe fifteen meters across, leaving the fifty-odd demons to stand shoulder-to-shoulder as they shared space with the abandoned cars.

The Seargent whistled an impressed tune, the Baroness tilting her head at the odd sound. “Looks like you really got your act together, Pinky, but I’m confused. You said you’d let me go, I thought we had a deal?”

Some of the imps looked to their leader with confusion, Sharrya shaking her head dismissively.

“I believe the words I used were head start. And besides, did you really think I would let such a fascinating little thing like you leave unchallenged? You’ve drawn my interest, Andreas. Woe betide you.”

“You must be one lonely asshole if you’re obsessed with me,” Andreas chuckled. Sharrya’s grin dropped just a fraction, her eyes like two emerald gemstones in the morning light.

“Do not delude yourself. You’ve caused a lot of problems for me, and you will be held accountable. Now,” she added, placing one hoof on the hood of a nearby car, the movement exposing the inside of her massive thigh. “you’re probably wondering why I haven’t given the order to melt you into a puddle yet. And while the thought has crossed my mind, I’ve decided both your soul and your body can be of use to me. Intact and very much alive.”

“I see where this is going,” Andreas said, reaching for his rocket launcher.

“By all means, ready your weapon,” Sharrya chuckled with a wave of her hand. “I know you’re not the type to roll over and accept his fate, so I won’t bother asking for your surrender. Just know you only delay the inevitable. It would be so much easier if you just took a look around you and admitted you’ve been bested.”

“Hmm… Nope,” Andreas said, and then shot her with a rocket. The payload zipped through the air between them and shattered against her stomach, the Baroness flipping through the air and falling into a tumble. He swivelled left, sending another payload at the mutated feet of the clustered imps there, shattering limbs and sending most of them sprawling back in a collective panic.

He sent off the next two rockets in quick succession, aiming for different points in the cordon. The highway groaned as the detonations sent tens of imps to their graves, but the demonic ranks were three rows deep, those at the rear coming to the forefront in a frenzy, closing the net on him from all sides.

Reloading the launcher would take too long, Andreas letting it hang in his sling as he switched to his plasma rifle, the electronics warbling to life. Blue heat collected around the muzzle as he swept the barrel over the nearest charging demon, the imp swiping at the air impotently as he hosed it down with plasma.

Andreas snapped to his next target, an imp darting around a car on his right, then to another vaulting over the vehicle. The lanes were clogged with the demonic, a sense of dread filling his chest as they swarmed him like locusts. At least the sheer volume meant that no matter where he aimed, he was always hitting something.

He kept a small bubble around him clear, trying to fire on every angle at once, but soon an imp slipped through, coming at him from behind. Andreas reached out and jabbed it in the throat, the demon’s breath leaving it in a guttural croak. He pulled the imp’s body close, using it like a body shield as a pair of fireballs were slung in his direction, the demon crying out as they collided with its chest.

Bracing his rifle on its shoulder, Andreas opened up on a trio of demons rushing at him from the side, the demons showing no concern for their comrade as Andreas held it in a headlock, more flames colliding with its chest to spill ichor. He shot each imp with a precision bolt, then threw his hostage to the ground, the imp too weathered to be of further use.

Before Andreas could react, something collided with his shoulder, and his back compressed painfully against the door of a car. It was so hard to get his bearings with demons every way he looked, but the imp had come at him from his blind spot, tackling him to the ground.

Andreas snarled as the imp raised a flaming hand, and slashed from left to right across his chest, his chest blooming with surging heat. Andreas had dropped his weapon, so he retaliated by striking it with a clenched fist, grabbing the stunned imp by the shoulders and rolling atop it.

He pinned the thrashing demon beneath a knee, reaching for the car door. It was unlocked, Andreas throwing it open with all his weight, the demon’s skull cracking with a savage crunch as it was caught in its path.

He keeled over when a fireball hit him in the back of the head, his helmet blaring out a warning and indicating the direction of the attack, as if that wasn’t obvious. He rolled over, finding an imp standing on the roof of a sedan in the next lane over. Andreas reached for his sidearm, and put a bullet through its head before it could ready another fireball.

The air took on the appearance of a miniature meteor storm, tens of fireballs crossing every which way, landing on the pavement all around him. More imps were coming into view, bumping into each other in their attempt to get to him. He would be swarmed in seconds.

Andreas went the only way he could, into the car. He grabbed his discarded rifle, then threw himself into the back seat, leather cushions creaking beneath his sudden weight. He hooked his boot around the door handle, and sealed himself inside.

The visage of an imp appeared in the window, the glass shattering as Andreas took aim, sending a single bolt between its eyes. More shards fell over his face as an imp circled to the far side, elbowing the window. Andreas reached up with his cleaver and jammed the edge into its throat.

The car came under a devastating barrage of fireballs, Andreas keeping his head low as the world around him seemed to end. Glass melted into goop, one of the front seat headrests’ ignited, the sound of a popping tyre making Andreas’ ears ring. The chassis rocked on its weakened suspension as the barrage crept into the minute mark, the imps getting the idea that coming any closer would mean death. Better to burn him out than to risk his cleaver.

“Hold your fire!” a voice cried out, one belonging to Sharrya of course. “Maykyr’s damn you, I said intact and alive! Hold!”

The fiery rain continued to fall despite her orders. An especially accurate fireball hit the backseat right by his head, the backwash of heat cooking him alive inside his armour.

“I said stop!” Sharrya roared over the storm. “The next miscreant to shoot will have his arms ripped off!”

The car was buffeted by a handful more fireballs, but the attack soon relented, the totalled car creaking as Andreas shifted, peaking just his eyes over the window sill. There was Sharrya, stood in the ranks of demons like nothing had ever happened. The next time he found a rocket launcher, he’d make sure it fired actual warheads instead of micro-missiles.

“You’ve had your fun, Andreas,” Sharrya called out. “But it’s over. Come out of that… whatever that thing is.”

“Eva, options?” Andreas whispered, locking eyes with an imp before ducking away.

“I… need a moment,” Eva replied. “There’s an access ladder leading to the street, but it’s thirty meters behind us. Could you make it?”

“Could I make it?” he hissed. “I don’t think you realise what’s happening, but getting through all those imps is a bit of an ask.”

“Just stall her while I think up of something!”

Andreas cursed under his breath, taking another peek outside. The imps had left a roughly ten-meter gap around his car, and most of their hands were full of flames. If he tried to make a run for it, they’d burn him to cinders before he could make two steps.

“Don’t make me wait, Andreas~” Sharrya sang. “I’ve been so very patient with you so far, but you’ve reached my limit.”

“How do I know you won’t just boil me as soon as I come out?” Andreas called. The Baroness snorted before answering.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stop melting your cover? Why would I do that if I wanted you dead, fool?”

“Good… Good point,” he replied. “It’s just hard to give you my trust, you know?”

“It won’t be hard giving me your soul, Andreas. The question of whether your body comes with it or not is up to you. If you don’t toss out your weapons and get out here, that metal contraption will be your coffin. Trust me on that.”

“Seargent, don’t,” Eva warned. “the Commander’s reinforcements will be here any minute, they’ll get us out of this.”

“We don’t have minutes,” Andreas chided.

“Don’t give up, we’ve been through tougher scrapes than this,” Eva said, pausing to consider. “Okay, maybe this is pretty bad, but you can’t surrender.”

“I’m not surrendering,” he said, raising his slings off his shoulders. “I’m stalling.”

He threw his launcher out the window, following it with his rifle and sidearm, each one making noisy thunks as they hit the road.

“Alright goat-legs, you win,” he conceded. “I’m coming out, don’t roast me alive.”

“We won’t,” Sharrya replied. A murmur passed over the imps, one that was distinctly doubtful. “I said we won’t,” she reiterated, her attention on her minions. Maybe holding authority over demon’s was harder than it looked.

Andreas slid out of the seat, raising his arms over his head as he stepped away from the car. Sharrya pointed at one of the imps, gesturing to his weapons with her other hand. The demon scurried over, staying well clear of Andreas as it scooped up his weapons, vanishing into the ranks as quick as it had appeared.

“There,” Sharrya sighed, hips rolling as she walked over to stand before him. He had to crane his neck to meet her gaze, which caused the demoness to smirk in amusement. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Oh! Looks like you missed your tiny knife.”

“Woops,” Andreas said, reaching for his belt and plucking the cleaver, placing it in her open palm. “Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Must’ve,” Sharrya agreed. Andreas glanced at all the onlooking demons in the resulting pause, shrugging his shoulders.

“So... we just going to stand here, or are we getting a move on?”

“You are something else, Andreas,” Sharrya laughed, her demeanour flipping as she turned to her legion. She jerked a hand to the side, and the imps fanned out, forming a circle around the pair and proceeding down the highway, back the way he’d come from.

One of the imps made to give him prompting shove, but Andreas flipped him off, the imp shrinking away as though expecting some hidden weapon. Andreas laughed at the imp’s expense, then got moving.

“You are feisty for one so small,” Sharrya said, sidling up uncomfortably beside him. Every hip-roll threatened to knock him over. “Feisty, determined, capable. Now you are all mine.”

She laid a hand on his shoulder, Andreas shrugging it away. “Keep dreaming, shit head, I’ll be out of whatever prison you’ve got in store for me before you can say Hell on Earth. Where are we going, by the way?”

“All the way to my home. Well, home on this mortal plane. It is not the same without the backwash of Hell’s fumes lingering in the air, but my cathedral is secure, and most of all, private. It is there you and I will have much to discuss, safe and free from otherworldly distractions.”

Andreas didn’t like the hungry look she was giving him, like she was examining an alien specimen ripe for dissecting.

“Sounds… great,” Andreas replied, leaning uncomfortably away from the leering demonette. “Why’re we hoofing it when you can just portal us over?”

“My dear human, do you not understand the nuances, the complexities of interdimensional travel? Your kind should have unravelled such secrets by this point.”

“My interactions with portals usually involve lobbing grenades or setting up kill funnels.”

“A rather crass perspective, but I’ll humour your inquiry. Portals require an energy source to draw from, and there are specialised legions dedicated to channelling such energies into a mode of transition. Priests and acolytes are trained in such matters, they are in charge of bringing the more elite ranks of Hell to where they need to go.”

“What kinds of sources?”

“Oh, let me think. Hmm. Off the top of my head, gore nest’s make for very convenient stores of energy. Without them, we can only send demons into the fray, not get them out of it. You truly have no idea how much of a headache it was to try and reconcile after its destruction,” she growled, exposing her sharp teeth in a grimace.

“Maybe I’ll pop over to Hell one day and plant some trees, see how you like it.”

The Baroness said nothing, and then her snarl broke out into a laugh, the hysterics causing several of the surrounding imps to turn her way.

“Even captured, you still manage to keep your spirit,” Sharrya chuckled. “It may not sound so harsh to you, but when you’ve been surrounded by blind compliance for as long as I have, the banality of it all makes you eager for a change of pace. It’s so refreshing to have someone with a foul mouth and who’s not afraid to speak their mind.”

“I think you’ve got it all wrong,” Andreas replied. “I’ve called out a lot of people in my life, and it’s never once earned me a compliment.”

“If I do not want to hear, what I want to hear, then it’s your world that is wrong, not I.” She shoved a car out of the way for him. “Plus, I find it a good thing to not be able to predict whatever comes out of your mouth. It’s certainly irritating at times,” she added, her hand on this side clenching. “But nobody has ever pushed my buttons like you have, and I’m not used to that. And as someone who has travelled across several galaxies, well, you could see how that’s novel to me.”

They continued down the highway for a silent while, the Baroness more at ease now that he was disarmed and compliant. She may have confiscated his weapons, but she’d neglected to relieve him of his pack, as if she didn’t expect him to have stashed a hidden weapon in there. She would be right, if one didn’t count the Argent Shards as weapons.

The thought made him freeze. The Shards were created from Hell, and if Sharrya discovered them, his mission would be in jeopardy.

“Since there are no acolytes around, we shall walk until we find one,” Sharrya stated. “Which is of little bother. Without portals, we have plenty of time to pick up where we left off last time, Andreas.”

“Last time?”

“Now don’t pretend you’ve forgotten already,” she said, enunciating her syllables. “I told you we would continue our conversation in our next meeting. Now you are my prisoner, with not much more to do than talk. And I do so have a strong urge to talk with you.”

Andreas remembered what Eva had said before, how the demoness was manipulating him, trying to get information out of him by appearing friendly, but it was his only chance. If he didn’t humour her, she might just remember about his pack, and the only thing separating her from the Shards was a thin layer of nylon.

“Alright, shoot,” he said, Sharrya giving him an odd look. “Shoot your questions,” he clarified.

“No quips or insults, Andreas? Is being my prisoner dulling that sharp tongue of yours? Do not worry, I treat those put under my special care very well.”

“Just get on with it, goat-legs, I haven’t got all morning.”

“That’s better,” she chuckled. “This security officer gig, as you called it, what made you strive for such a position?”

“I didn’t strive so much as took what I could get,” he said, Sharrya slowing her long stride to keep pace with him. “Tried to follow in my brothers’ footsteps, fucked that up. My father set me up with his carpentry business, wasn’t good at that either. Spent a lot of my twenties bouncing round, but apparently if you fling shit at the wall long enough, eventually something sticks, and passing the officer training was the one thing I could actually do well. It’s funny,” he added. “back then, my biggest concern was saving up enough money for a car.”

He chuckled bitterly, looking at the devastation all around him.

“You must have been better than average,” Sharrya noted. “You said you stopped a breakout with no casualties, correct? In the confines of a base, that must have been no easy task.”

“I said minimum casualties,” he corrected.

Sharrya tilted her head ever so slightly, clearly intrigued but perhaps unwilling to prompt him. Again, he considered holding his peace, but it was an old story, and what was the harm in telling it? He could even appeal to her softer side, if a demon possessed such a thing.

“I couldn’t… didn’t, save everyone,” he continued. “There was this woman who worked there. Most of the scientists looked down on us grunts, but not her. Only person I really got along with. When the shit hit the fan, everyone in my sector was accounted for. Everyone except her, and I only realised that after the choppers dusted off and I did a headcount.”

“Did you find out what happened to her?”

“Turned out she’d locked herself in her lab. Too scared to move, maybe. That happens to some people. The door was forced open, and she had a giant gash right here,” he said, touching a finger to his throat. “She died alone.”

“That must have been horrific,” Sharrya said, a hint of emotion in her voice.

“I made a promise after that. She’d be the last one. From then on I’d do whatever it took make sure I saved as many people as I could.”

“And so you leapt at the opportunity for advancement,” Sharrya mused. “and became a deadly warrior as a result. She must have been a fine mate.”

“Mate?” he echoed. “It wasn’t that kind of relationship.”

“But you liked her, no?”

“Yeah, sure. But… well,” he stammered. “We were technically work colleagues, so it didn’t feel right to go down that road. If it didn’t work out, that’s a lot of tension I don’t think either of us would rather deal with.”

“Mortal relationships are quite odd,” Sharrya noted. “But it would be cruel of me to speak ill of the dead. I won’t insult you by apologising on behalf of her demon killers, but it seems her loss has strengthened you rather than the opposite.”

“It was years ago, I’ve moved on,” he said, glad that the Baroness was socially aware enough that a word of comfort was just plain inappropriate. He’d give her a word of appreciation in another circumstances.

“How about you?” he asked. “You must have some stories about this… Shattered Peak place you grew up in.”

“So you do remember our talk,” Sharrya noted with a grin. “I experienced many tribulations during my ascent to Baroness. What did you have in mind?”

“Ever met your match?”

“Let’s see.” She paused, a considering claw on her chin. “There was…. one who managed to overcome me. Several one’s, excuse me. Two males and a female. They were my first taste of humiliation.”

“Wait, I’m not your first defeat? And here I was being proud of myself.”

“Are you arrogant or just ignorant? Being defeated, and being overcome, are not the same things. These three never met me on the field of battle once, they relied on manipulation and dishonourable acts to… to hurt me.”

The Baroness broke eye-contact on that last part, Andreas quirking a brow at her. Usually she was so stoic and confident, so seeing her hesitate was a peculiar sight.

“I once made the mistake of conjuring a fireball before my body was ready,” she continued. “I singed off two of my claws, and those three were there to witness my error. And like parasites, they clung to my weakness, prodded me, goaded me, and made sure I’d never live that moment down.”

“Wait, wait,” Andreas said, holding up his hands. “are you saying the great Baroness Sharrya, meanest son of a bitch in Spain, was bullied?”

“I was a newt,” she growled, a touch of irritation in her voice. “not five years off from my spawning. We all were. I was a far cry from the pristine Baroness you see before you.”

“I’ll say,” Andreas replied, his shoulders jumping as he began to laugh. “I can just imagine it, a bunch of Baron kids picking on one of their own. What else did you do, wet the bed?”

“Be silent,” Sharrya snapped. “You know nothing of what you speak of, I’ve experienced horrors so unfathomable, that your tiny mind would simply collapse on itself at the merest glance.”

“But none of that compares to you being picked on, does it? That kind of shit stays with you, I can see that plain as day. Oh man, I wish I could have seen the look on your face as you were put in your place.”

He threw his head back, laughing at the tormented sky. A couple of the imps turned their heads to peer at him, beady eyes shifting uneasily to their Baroness. She looked angry enough that she could boil the air around her head.

“You wretched little…” Sharrya snarled, jabbing a claw the size of a meat hook in his face. “I thought we were finally going to be civilised to one another, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? I have the courtesy to answer your question, and you throw it back in my face!”

Her eyes did more than blaze, they literally ignited, licking flames brushing across her brow as she leaned down until their noses practically touched, his whole world consumed in her fury.

“I should consume your soul right here,” she growled, her voice taking on an unsettling quality.

“Do it,” Andreas said, her threats going over his head. “Oh that’s right, killing me is the last thing you want, right? Can’t fulfill your urge to talk with a dead man.”

“You’d be surprised what a soul can offer,” Sharrya replied. “Just ask your dead friend, I’m sure she’s still suffering damnation to this day.”

Andreas wiped the smile off his face, his brow furrowing. As angry as he was, his fear was overpowering, the fact he was staring down the biggest demon he’d ever seen setting a pit in his stomach. She could rip him limb from limb and he wouldn’t have a chance to fight back.

He could see she was resisting the urge to do exactly that, her eyes slowly closing, those waving flames snuffing out as she took in a deep breath. Her warm breath washed over his face as she exhaled, opening her lids to reveal her gaze had returned to normal.

“Bastard,” she hissed, crossing her arms and storming ahead, her hooves hitting the ground hard enough to leave cracks. She stopped short of the front of the imp pack, leaving him alone for the first time since she’d captured him.

Andreas regarded her back thoughtfully. Why hadn’t she done anything to him? He’d finally set her off, yet her retaliation had been completely verbal. If someone had made fun of his childhood like that, he’d have punched them in the mouth.

A swell of pity formed in his chest. Perhaps he’d been too cruel, saying that. If Baron’s could tease one another, it had to be on a whole other level compared to human kids. Two claws singed off? How hot could those hands get?

Andreas muttered a disapproving statement under his breath. He couldn’t believe a part of him was trying to… identify with this demon. Maybe Eva was right, and he’d talked to this demon too much already. He must be the only man on Earth holding a shred of amnesty towards a literal spawn of Hell, yet here he was, trying to decide whether he felt bad for Sharrya or not.

His thoughts were interrupted by a message from Eva, the AI’s tone coming off as excited.

“All right, Seargent, good news. That team Commander Valeria sent is just down the street, at the bottom of the ramp. They’re set up and have scopes on us right now.”

“Good. What’s the plan?” he replied, keeping his voice low. There was no point, the helmet could filter him out from the world at the press of a button, but the habit to whisper stuck.

“I’m thinking once we get close, you distract the Baroness, just in case she thinks something’s up. They’ve set up landmines down there, so when the explosions start, get your butt out into the alleys. It’s going to get loud and very messy.”

“Distract? Okay, I can do that.”

Over the tops of horned heads, Andreas could see the highway was angling slightly down, blooming into an extra lane on either side as it met with the street-level. The ambush was only a few minutes away.

Andreas turned his attention to his demonic escort, but not before he caught a glint of light, flashing off one of the nearby rooftops. Andreas knew a sniper scope when he saw one. He didn’t think Valeria’s people were idiots, but that sniper had picked a pretty careless spot.

He had to make sure Sharrya didn’t look up. Fortunately, he had a plan for that.

Steeling himself, Andreas quickened his pace, giving the Baroness a wide berth as he entered her vision, making sure she saw him coming. She met his eyes briefly before looking back between her hoofs, a troubled look on her face. His comment must have done more than stung, his guilt rising an octave.

“Oi, Sharrya, hold on a sec.”

“Prisoners do not dictate Hell’s pace,” the Baroness grumbled, Andreas taking his spot by her side. He could literally feel her anger coming off her skin, like she were a walking radiator.

“Look, what I said just then, that was out of line, and I want to apologise, clear the air between us. What do you say?”

“I’d say… that’s it?” Sharrya replied. “You must really be dense if you think that counts as clearing the air.”

“Look, I know I can be an asshole sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Okay, all the time, but what happened just then was low, even for me. I know kids can be pretty cruel when they want to be,” he added, Sharrya returning her eyes to the ground. “I know because, my brother used to get picked on a lot when he was little. Every time he came home crying was… it was tough.”

“And did you taunt him to make him feel better?”

“No, I got him snacks. Real unhealthy snacks, like this.”

He reached into his pack, and fished out one of his MRE’s, producing one of the packets inside. He unwrapped the desert packet, and held its contents up to her.

“What is… that?” she asked, quirking a brow.

“Choc-chip cookies,” he explained. “Go on, try one.”

“You think you can offer me, a Baroness of Hell, discretionary processed sweets as a form of apology?”

“I guarantee you’ve never had one of these before.”

“I’ve never had a prisoner bargain with sugar and fat before, either. But I’ll indulge you.”

She plucked the cookies from his hand, and stuffed them between her tusks. As she chewed, he expression lifted just a fraction, and after a thoughtful pause she swallowed. “Is that all you did to comfort your brother?”

“I also told him that his bullies were cowards. And they were jealous of him because he was the bigger man. And Sharrya, you are the bigger man. Uh, woman,” he corrected. “While they were always gossiping about your shortcoming as a kid, you plunged straight into the Peaks horns-first, made a name for yourself. They probably called you all sorts of things, but you’re the biggest, baddest bitch I know.”

“Really?” she asked. “You mean that?”

“Sure! If those Baron’s could see how much you’ve bounced back from when you burned your hand, they wouldn’t be laughing anymore. Trust me, I know firsthand how much your fireballs hurt nowadays.”

That got a chuckle out of the demoness, her large hand swinging down to clap him on the back.

“You have a strange, roundabout way of apologising. It’s strangely sweet, like this treat.”

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re a giant cunt deep down.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less. Now hand over the rest of your snacks, and I may just consider forgiving you.”

He had her try a jelly donut next, the demon having this look of horror on her face once she discovered the pocket of strawberry. She made to spit it out, but after a quick explanation, she discovered she quite enjoyed the taste. Who would have thought demons could have a sweet tooth.

“I wish to apologise as well,” she said, licking her claws clean of any pastry residue. Her tongue must have been as long as his arm, the muscle the same shade of red as her skin. “The dead do not deserve criticism from the living, and it’s unwise to draw their ire by any means.”

“You don’t come off as a spiritual sort,” Andreas noted.

“I’m not. On one of the worlds I invaded, every creature living there had the ability to resurrect. I do not know if it was something in the air or the planet itself was responsible, but unless we destroyed their limbs or heads, they would just get right up again. Since then I’ve always been leery of unlife.”

“Wow that’s… fucking horrifying.”

“I told you I’d seen some horrors in my time.”

“Well, nightmare realms aside, I think we both said some bad shit ack there. I’m willing to forget if you are.”

He extended his hand, moving in front of Sharrya so she had to stop. They were only a dozen odd meters from the bottom of the ramp, Andreas hoping he wasn’t about to get caught in the blast of a landmine.

“What are you doing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. Did she suspect something was amiss? No, she was directing her attention to his outstretched hand.

“It’s called a handshake. Pretty self-explanatory. It’s what we humans do when two parties come to an agreement.”

After considering him, she took his smaller hand in her massive one, Andreas summoning all his strength to pump her arm. Her hand was as hot as a stove top, just barely tolerable as the tips of her claws brushed his forearm. Her hand was big enough to encompass his whole head and pop it like a grape, yet she held his arm with a gentleness that surprised him.

Noting that he was staring, he broke the silence with a question. “So, bygones?”

“Bygones,” she agreed, a silent pause passing through as he looked up at her, the demon blinking her eyes once. Whether this was all an act to get her distracted, or an actual attempt to apologise for being an ass, even Andreas didn’t know. But Sharrya bought it either way.

“Enough!”

Andreas and Sharrya turned as one towards the speaker, their joined hands slowly falling away to their sides. Andreas expected some crazed marine to be responsible for the interruption, but the reality couldn’t be further from the truth.

An imp had severed from the circling pack of demons, pointing a defiant claw up at the Baroness. If snakes could talk, Andreas imagined their accents would be a lot like his, the imp gnashing his teeth before he spoke.

“Gah! Enough coddling the mortal, let’s eat him!”

“There will be no eating you imbecile,” Sharrya sighed, her green eyes rolling. “I want this mortal alive, remember?”

“Nnnn… what is point?” the imp snarled, flecks of spit flying as it turned its attention to Andreas. “Alive, dead, man-flesh still the same taste.”

“The point is that I said so,” Sharrya replied, surprising Andreas by taking a protective step in front of him. “When I want something dead, it dies, when I want something alive, it breathes. I don’t expect your feeble mind to understand such complicated logistics, but remember who it is you are addressing, minion.”

“The Maykyrs never talked of capturing mortals,” the demon replied through clicks of its fangs. “Only consummation.”

“The Maykyrs hold no control over you. I do,” Sharrya snarled, sweeping her gaze at the rest of the imps. They had all stopped, Andreas experiencing a sense of déjà vu as they ogled him. At least this time he had someone to share the attention.

“As far as any of you are concerned, when you patrol my theatre, consume my souls, then I am your sole sovereign,” Sharrya added. “You will do what I tell you, when I tell you. Now march, or suffer the consequences.”

“Suffer, like he does?” the imp asked, his beady eyes tracking Andreas. “You pamper him. You talk with him, laugh at him, eat his things and touch his hands! You’ve brought more harm to us than you have to him!”

“Uh, crazy horns?” Andreas asked, looking behind him. “I think you’re losing the crowd.”

Some of the imps were hollering their agreement, some were daring to walk closer, but Sharrya’s burning gaze was like an invisible spotlight, brushing the encroaching imps back where ever she looked.

“You let him walk over us,” the imp continued. “You let him kill us, and now you let it live? You’ve become weak in the face of one mortal!”

“And you’ve become delusional in the face of your own stupidity,” Sharrya snapped back. “I warn you now, all of you,” she added, her attention flicking to her rear. “Obey me now and I will forget this transgression. Mutiny against me will be your last mistake.”

“If one mortal could best you, why not us?” the imp remarked, taking a pointed step forward. “Always wondered what taste Baron flesh has…”

“You’ll die never knowing, cretin.”

“Can’t you control your own damned men?” Andreas demanded, backing up towards her right leg, her presence the one comfort against the gathering demons. Andreas loved irony. “Give me my weapons.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Andreas, I passed your guns off to one of them.”

Cursing, Andreas snacked between the feet of the imps, spotting a glint of white metal after a few moments. His weapons were discarded on the hood of a car, right in the midst of the imps.

“There!” he said. “I’m going to go for them, cover me.”

“Who am I, you’re bootlick? Cover yourself, Andreas, I have my own problems.”

He made to retort, but he was interrupted by the talkative imp voicing a cry, leaping onto a car and throwing himself into the air. His long claws were held out wide, throwing them over his head in preparation for a swing.

His arc would have brought him right down on Andreas’ head, but Sharrya plucked him out of the air, wrapping her claws around his throat. She positioned the choking imp over her shoulder, posing like a shot-putter. She cast him off like he weighed no more than a toy, the imp sailing clean over the pack to land somewhere out of view.

The rest of the demons were undeterred, two more imps marching forward with claws raised. Sharrya made to deck one across the chin, but he ducked below the blow, his counterpart moving in to her blindspot.

As he raised his claws to strike, Andreas stepped in, grabbing the imp’s shoulders and delivering a swift headbutt. The dazed imp stumbled back, Andreas swiping the legs out from beneath him, the imp crashing to the floor. A hard kick to the head, and the demon stopped moving.

He turned to see Sharrya finishing off the first demon, tossing him away just like she had with the other. She shot him a strange look as she noticed the unconscious imp nearby, her expression morphing into surprise as her eyes flicked up.

“Behind you!”

Andreas turned, but too late, a purple and red demon slamming into his front. His back compressed against the pavement as the imp put all its weight on him, pinning one of his arms beneath the heel of its foot.

He swiped out with his free hand, but the imp blocked with its forearm, his claws curling over his armoured wrist. Andreas growled as the imp applied pressure, giving his limb a painful wrench to the side. Spittle hit his visor in droplets as the imp voiced something between a snarl and a cackle, stabbing a claw straight through his shoulder pad.

Andreas felt warm blood dribble down his arm, trying to wrestle free of the demon, but his arms were pinned tight. He tried raising his legs to kick it off, but his knees flailed uselessly against its back, another slice across his chest dragging Andreas into a daze.

Without leverage, struggling was useless, the imp was just too heavy. As he began to despair, a pink hand entered from the top of his vision, seizing the imp by the collar.

The imp lifted away, Sharrya pressing her snout up against its beady face. She brought up her knee, connecting her furred leg to its nose. There was a crunch, and the imp relaxed in her grip, Sharrya tossing him aside as she smirked at Andreas.

“Looks like you owe me your life,” Sharrya mused, taking him by the shoulder. “Up.”

He staggered to his feet, brushing her hand away as he turned towards the rest of the demons. “I was handling that.”

“Oh yes, you were a real beacon of defiance from where I was standing.”

More imps were clustering around her flank, the Baroness turning to meet them. Like a pet owner plucking a disobedient cat, she grabbed two of the oncoming imps, her giant muscles bulging as she thrashed their heads together.

Andreas picked up a loose piece of detritus and chucked it at the third, the demon crumpling as the stone cracked its skull. Sharrya began to circle on the spot, her horns cutting through the air as she watched her angles.

“Woah, nice pitch,” Sharrya commented. “Since you can’t handle yourself without a weapon of some kind, here, catch.”

Her hook flicked, and the bumper of a car flew in his direction, Andreas snagging it with both hands. He stepped in behind the demoness, countering her circling as he wielded the piece of metal like a club.

“Can’t believe I’m fighting with a deranged demon all of a sudden,” Andreas mumbled.

“Don’t you admire the change of pace?” Sharrya quipped. “The spice of life is variety, after all.”

“Fuck you and your spice. Just burn a hole through these guys before they burn us.”

“No.”

“What? No? Why the Hell not?”

“These are my servants,” she answered, pausing to drive her hoof into an incoming imp, the demon trailing away like a swatted insect. “I will not kill those who have sworn to me.”

“Look dickhead, I don’t know if you noticed, but they’re not taking orders from you anymore.”

“And they are justified in doing so,” Sharrya said. “If I was unsatisfied with my leader, I would rebel too. Regardless, they have served me faithfully up to now, they do not deserve death as punishment.”

“Oh, so now you’re all about morals and mercy?” Andreas complained. “If only you were this compassionate before you invaded my planet.”

Andreas held his combat ready stance, squaring off against two more imps scrambling towards him, cupping flames between their claws. The closest of the two moved into range of his improvised weapon, and as he prepared to swing, a harsh crack tore through the air.

The imp’s face from the nose up vanished, the demon stumbling two paces before the body gave out. Its accomplish froze in surprise, and then its head met the same fate as the first, a second crashing report following it through. Nearly all demonic heads turned in search of the source of the disturbance, even Sharrya’s left brow experienced a twitch as she pondered on the two fresh imp corpses.

“Humans,” she whispered. Her gaze fell on Andreas, but he was no longer at her rear, the Seargent sprinting towards the wall of imps at full-kilter.

More cracking reports sounded off from somewhere not far off, and another imp succumbed to a lethal headshot. Some of the imps sort cover, one slipping behind a car door warbling out a cry as a giant hole appeared in its chest. A third imp had its arm blown off at the shoulder, a fifth and sixth following suit.

They were being picked off one at a time, the confidence of the numerous imps shattering as more of them dropped, and their attention turned to the buildings lining the highway. One of the demons didn’t even bat an eye as Andreas brushed by his flank, skidding to a stop next to his discarded weapons.

As he pulled the slings overt his chest, a voice crackled into his helmet, and it wasn’t Eva’s.

“Seargent? Seargent, this is Corporal Torres. Command said you could use some assistance, and something tells me that’s an understatement. You alive down there?”

“Just a-fucking-bout,” Andreas replied. An imp finally took note of what he was doing, but a plasma bolt from his rifle put down any retaliation.

“Get down off that highway, we’ll cover you,” Torres continued. “We’re holed up at the motel - blue building on your left. Meet us there.”

With the sniper fire, and Sharrya still dealing with her own half of the imps, Andreas took his chance, hugging the highway barrier and circumventing the chaos. A couple of the outlying demons tried to intercept him, but precision shots from his new guardian angels ensured his clean breakaway.

The building the Corporal had indicated was a residential building, reduced to a couple floors of loose detritus. The rubble provided plenty of concealment for the snipers on the upper floors, Andreas picking out a few gun muzzles poking through gaps in the bricks.

A short flight of steps up and through a glass archway, and he was inside the safety of the structure, the sounds of the gunfight dimming slightly. Andreas dropped to a crouch as he heard movement from the stairwell in the far corner of the lobby, hesitating as he watched a pair of boots enter his view.

A moment later, a soldier dressed in combat armour was training a scoped rifle on him, Andreas lifting his plasma rifle on reflex. The two humans lowered their guns after a second, the solider lifting his visor with one hand and waving him over with the other.

“Seargent Andreas? When they told me you were stranded out here, I didn’t expect to see you in one piece.” He offered his hand. “You must have balls the size of Mars.”

“And you must be Corporal Torres,” Andreas replied, the man nodding as they shook hands. “It’s good to see someone without horns and claws for a change.”

“Nice going with that distraction by the way,” Torres remarked, clutching his rifle to his chest. “All I asked your robot for was a scene, and you caused a full-blown riot. From what I saw they seemed more concerned with that Baron than you, Sarge. How’d you pull that off?”

“Long story,” Andreas replied. “Let’s just get out of here before they realise I gave them the slip.”

“Good point. Get down here everyone, we’re leaving,” Torres said into his helmet’s radio. A moment later, and a squad of four other soldiers rushed down the stairs, joining them in the lobby. They were all dressed in similar battle attire, with the Spanish flag sewn into patches on their shoulders. There was an exit archway at the far side of the room, Torres turning to Andreas as they moved towards it. “You coming, Sarge?”

Andreas hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. A couple dozen meters out and to the right, he could see Sharrya had her hands full with the imps. The lesser demons had entirely forgotten about him and the snipers covering him, the remainer of the pack circling her like wolves. Her expression was furious, but there was restraint in her movements, every kick and punch held back just a fraction, and she never once conjured up fire in her hands. She really did mean to show her former men mercy.

One of the imps managed to circle around her, and leap onto her shoulders without her notice. He locked his elongated legs above her copious bosom, slicing into her scalp from behind. Sharrya roared, reaching up to pluck him off, but the imp was slippery, holding onto her shoulders tight as she tried to throw him off. The rest of the imps never let up, hacking at her furry legs, her rich blood shooting into the air like erupting geysers. She might not want to kill them, but for the imps, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Indecision wracked him. Sharrya was a commander of Hell, the literal definition of his enemy, yet a part of him didn’t want to see her die. She’d shown restraint in capturing him, shielding him from the scrutiny of her minions. Sure, her endgame might have been using his soul for whatever rituals Hell had in store for humans, but the fact she’d saved him from that imp not a few minutes ago put doubt on her malice. She wasn’t cruel to him, so why should he be cruel to her?

“Fuck it,” Andreas mumbled. Then louder he said: “Corporal, your rifle. Now.”

Torres’ only argument was a solitary blink, the man shouldering the sling and tossing it over. Whether he was respecting his rank or could tell Andreas wasn’t someone he wanted to question, that was anyone’s guess, but Andreas liked his attitude. This Corporal got things done.

Andreas braced the rifle against his shoulder, peering through the scope. The weapon was bolt action, a little less modern than what Andreas was used to, but its pinpoint accuracy was exactly what he needed. The magnified view brought him right up to Sharrya’s upper torso, her demonic features pulled up in a snarl as the imp on her back continued to harass her. How someone could take that many slices to their cranium and live was astounding, but Andreas was used to her resilience by this point.

He waited for his moment, and when Sharrya turned her back on him, he fired, the stock kicking into his shoulder with force. The solitary bullet passed straight through the imp’s skull, the demon flipping off the Baron’s back, and curling up like a dead spider by her hooves.

The Baroness looked from the corpse, then to him, their eyes locking over the distance. The corner of her lips curled, and she dipped her head in a silent, if mocking, gesture of thanks, Andreas replying by rolling his eyes.

With the dwindling number of imps, Sharrya took back the initiative, but Andreas didn’t wait around to see the results. He had five other men to worry about now, he couldn’t let his mixed perception of Sharrya get in the way of their safety.

“Now we can go,” Andreas said, handing Torres his rifle back as he brushed passed, the rest of the team waiting by the exit. “You have my thanks, all of you,” he added. “I didn’t think I was going to get out of that shitshow alive.”

“We’re not out of it just yet,” Torres said. “Still have to get back to the Rallypoint. On me, squad, let’s get the Seargent and his cargo out of here.”

-xXx-

It was only after a half hour’s walk that the Corporal felt safe to slow it down, the tall walls of the back alleys providing a modicum of security as the squad took refuge between the buildings. One of the soldiers passed him a canteen, Andreas thanking him as he leaned against the wall and unscrewed the cap.

“With respect, Sarge, you look like a dead man walking,” Torres commented once Andreas flipped up his visor. “But considering what you’ve been through, I’m not judging.”

“When you’re jacked up on appetite suppressants, stimulants, and enough caffeine to fill up a bucket, I’d doubt you’d look pretty either,” Andreas replied. He could almost feel the bags under his eyes weighing on his face. It was a good thing there wasn’t a mirror around.

“Back when we sent expeditions into the city, we had to hammer entire districts with artillery just so patrols could have a clear space to walk through,” Torres said. “I don’t know how on Earth you survived out here.”

“I could ask the same thing to you,” Andreas replied. “Nearly every country in in Europe is gone, so how are you guys still operating?”

“We were spared the worst of the invasion,” Torres explained. “The first portals started in the north. UK, Norway, Denmark. While Hell dealt with them, it gave us and the local UAC brass time to prepare, as horrible as that sounds. By the time they swept south, we had almost everybody evacuated, and a defensive strategy in place. Are we really all that’s left?” Torres pressed. “Word from the outside is hard to get as you can imagine, and Command doesn’t tell us much. Is all of Spain… gone?”

The rest of the squad was looking at him intently, Andreas taking a sip before replying.

“If your Command is keeping you in the dark, it’s for a reason,” he said. “But you deserve a straight answer. I wasn’t told much either, but I’ll say this, ever since we arrived off the coast a couple weeks back, we’ve been sending broadcasts out on all frequencies every hour, every day. You’re the only ones who’ve answered.”

“Shit…” Torres muttered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Andreas added. “ARC has several smaller flotillas in the Mediterranean. There’s a chance they managed to fly some people out of here before we came in.”

His words seemed to put Torres and his squad more at ease. These people had been trapped in Spain for a long while, bad news was something they were able to take.

“What’s the status of the Rallypoint?” Andreas asked, changing the subject.

“Morale was at an all-time low. We’ve been living off canned food for months now, and rationings made it worse. When your section came in with relief supplies, it helped, but after we heard that one of your ships didn’t make it, we assumed the worst. Without those Shards, all we could do was sit there and wait for the demons to starve us out.”

“Then pow, one of the gore nests goes up in flames,” another of the soldiers continued. “That really was your doing, sir?”

“Who else would it be, numb nuts?” Torres asked. “But yeah, some of your men said it had to be you, and it looks like they were right. I think spirits among the men will surge once you get back there with those Shards.”

“Then we’ve got no time to lose,” Andreas said, tossing the soldier his canteen and straightening up. “How far until we get there? I’m about through with this city.”

“It’s an hours’ walk, maybe two,” Torres replied. “Sir, with respect, you should take a breather. God knows you need it.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to breath once I’m inside this fortress I keep hearing about,” Andreas said. Torres conceded, nodding for his squad to collect their gear and get back on their feet.

“It’s this way,” Torres said, walking out of the alley and pointing a finger to the left. “Since you’re the ranking officer, I defer squad lead to you, Sarge.”

“You won’t defer anything, Corporal,” Andreas said, shaking his head. “You’re not ARC, I’ve no authority over you or your men. Besides, this is your country, you should lead the way.”

“Oh. All right then, Sarge,” Torres said, surprised by his answer. “If you could take up the rear, we’ll be travelling in line formation.”

The squad followed the Corporal out onto the street, each man keeping a few feet of distance from each other, Andreas filing out after them and watching the team’s back. It felt good to be surrounded by his fellow mortals again, that sense of safety in numbers calming his boiling nerves.

Tens of minutes passed without demonic interruption, and while Torres and some of the squad commented on the situation, Andreas kept to himself. He had a pretty strong idea why the demons were leaving them alone, as they had bigger fish to fry – said fish being a certain Baroness. He’d seen a few isolated cases of infighting, but that was only between the lesser demons, like zombies or cacodemons, but he’d never seen a Baron being challenged like that before. He knew she was skilled, but could she handle the numerous amounts of imps he’d seen since the crash?

Andreas chuckled inside his helmet. Was he concerned for her? For all the grief she’d caused him, all the chasing and the teasing, it’d be a shame if she went out when he was just starting to get to know her.

“What are you laughing at?” Eva demanded, her sudden voice startling him.

“Oh, hey Eva. It’s just the way the Corporal talked about me just now,” he explained. “You’d think I’d be the Slayer or something, coming in and lifting everyone’s hopes with these Shards.”

“There’s a key difference between you and the Slayer,” Eva pointed out. “He kills demons, while you stand around and have a chat with them.”

“Here we go…” Andreas sighed, bracing himself.

“It’s bad enough that you continued to discuss your personal life with a Baron of Hell, after I told you the dangers, mind. Hell forbid you show a shred of concern for your safety after your capture.”

“Look, I-”

“Oh, but then it gets better! Just when we’re about to escape, you have the sudden urge to turn around and give said Baron a helping hand! Why did you not shoot her instead? Or better yet, let the rest of the demons solve the problem for us?”

“What’s done is done, Eva, what matters now is we get to the Rallypoint.”

“Oh, no no no, you’re not brushing this one off. You can walk and talk. Explain to me why you’re so… obsessed with her?”

“She’s a demon that likes to talk,” he said, feigning indifference. “That’s enough to spark my interest. Yours too, right?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she works for the most evil entity humanity has ever witnessed! Or is this Baron not like other demons, is that what you’re getting at?”

“In some ways, yeah,” he agreed. “You’ve been there every step of the way, you’ve seen how unique she is. She could have killed me a dozen times over, but she didn’t. Hell, she even saved me from that imp. And when she said they were justified in betraying her, and wasn’t trying to kill them… Since when have you seen a demon show mercy? It’s unheard of.”

“You don’t… You don’t respect her, do you?” Eva asked, as though she was accusing him of murder.

“Well, I think it’s one of the things I like about her.”

Eva didn’t reply, and when the silence dragged on, Andreas reached up to tap his helmet.

“Hey, you good in there, Eva?”

“Don’t hit me, my lattice is preoccupied trying to ascertain your sudden cognitive dissonance!” Eva barked. She used the following pause to collect herself, her tone levelling out, but still edged with anger. “How can you like her!? She tried to whisk you away to a cathedral and threatened to eat your soul! Didn’t your mother warn you about women like her?”

“I was being an ass,” Andreas pointed out. “I deserved a bit of a scolding. Besides, she’s cute when she’s pissed.”

“Of all of Earth’s soldiers, I had to be paired with a… a promiscuous heathen,” Eva lamented. “Please for love of all that is holy, don’t start thinking with your… thingy. Your penis.”

She said that last bit as though it caused her physical trauma, Andreas rolling his eyes.

“Look, all I said was I like her, it’s no big deal…”

“Oh, so you staring at her chest thirty percent of the time is no big deal, is it?”

“Thirty percent? It’s a good thing I had the visor on, huh?”

“Be serious for a second, Seargent. You are walking a very fine line. Sympathy is the first step to possession. Hell can and will take advantage of any weakness.”

“I thought you were my aid, Eva, not my critic.”

“I’m not doubting you!” Eva chided. Andreas couldn’t remember the last time she’d raised her voice at him, if she ever had.

“I’m trying to help you because I’m concerned! I’ve seen so many humans be seduced by Hell, become monsters. I can’t let the same happen to you. You might not be afraid, but I’m afraid for you. That’s why I’m criticising your actions.”

Their exchange simmered in silence as Andreas followed the squad through the next intersection. Flights of winged demons screeched through the skies, too high to be of concern, but a troubling sight nonetheless.

“Listen, Eva,” Andreas began. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it. How long have you and me been together?”

“Since the invasion started,” she answered. “Every step of the way.”

“And how many times have I let you down since?”

“Never…”

“That’s not changing, you hear me? Sharrya is a demon, through and through, and I’ll treat her as such until I’m dead.”

“I hope it will not come to that…”

-xXx-

After an hour of walking, the squad began to emerge from the ruins, unfiltered wind pushing against his chest as Andreas took in the view of a mostly unobstructed sky. Bits of wall and housing frameworks still littered around him, but the majority of the cluttered streets was now behind him, the territory in front taking on the look of a barren wasteland.

The sloped ground was pockmarked with craters tens of feet deep, the ground taking on an ashen quality. The ground was free from detail save for a few strewn pieces of metal and glass. It was as though the thumb of God had come through and wiped the Earth clean. The empty canvas ahead was a stark contrast to the winding streets Andreas had crossed the past two days.

“Our artillery pounds the crap out of the area around the Rallypoint every week,” Torres explained when Andreas quizzed him. “Helps thin their numbers, at least we think so. Thousands of them get caught in the blasts, but they just replace them like it’s nothing. Some days you can’t even see the ground, that’s how many there are.”

“If there’s that many, how’d you get to me?” Andreas asked.

“We snuck out on our own two feet. Any vehicle or aircraft and we’d have too much company to deal with.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I’ll show you, just a couple more ash dunes, and we’ll be there.”

Andreas could see lights permeating the sky before them, but their source was obstructed by the dunes, Andreas following the men as they manoeuvred through the craters. Their steps were careful, precise, as though they were following a route known only to them. He wondered how many times Torres had done this.

As the squad crested one more hump in the Earth, Andreas finally saw his destination. As the ground sloped away, a sheer slab of grey metal greeted his view, towering some two hundred feet into the air. Buttressed projected from the very tip of the wall, giving it a very castle-like appearance. The metal seemed to be overlaid with segmented plates, perhaps as an extra reinforcement layer. Its closest point was a corner, the wall turning away and continuing on for hundreds of meters before ending at another turn, Andreas assuming the wall was shaped like a square.

At each corner of the walls was an impressive mounted gun, their twin barrels turned at various angles towards the sky. They looked bigger than houses, probably responsible for the scarred ground surrounding the Rallypoint on all sides. These weren’t the only defences in place. Nearly the whole length of the wall was bristling with smaller weaponry, autocannon barrels and machine gun mounts turned towards the ground, protected by improvised sandbags and draped in camo netting.

Andreas could see the tops of buildings beyond the wall, a glass dome taking up the most space, with a few flat tops spaced around its flanks. If Andreas had to guess how much land the fortress covered, he’d compare it to the size of a city block, maybe more. It was massive, and its numerous defences reflected that. No wonder they had held the line for so long.

“I’ve read the reports, seen photos,” Andreas remarked, hunkering alongside the squad. “but that’s a fucking huge base you’ve got there.”

“Samuel Hayden liked to dream big,” Torres replied, adjusting from one knee to the other. “You’re looking at all that’s left of Spain, Sarge. It’s people, everything.”

“What’s the headcount?”

“Two fifty k. All the civvies are packed in like canned fish in the underground section – UEC thought ahead, thank God. Only soldiers are allowed topside, since the demons like to drop napalm in the courtyard.”

“How do we get in?” Andreas asked. “I don’t see a front door.”

“The main gate’s on the far side, but we’re not going that way. Here,” he added, sliding off his rifle’s scope and passing it over. “Take a look at the far side of the wall, where it meets the coast.”

Andreas took the detached scope, opening up his visor and peering through the lens. The view of the wall panned right as he moved to where the Corporal was pointing. From their vantage point, he was able to see a straight view towards the sea, the land terminating in a series of rock pools and steep drops, the waves throwing up clouds of froth as they crashed into the cliffs.

The corner of the Rallypoint sat a short distance away from the beach, the fortifications built into a nearby incline. Andreas spotted what Torres was pointing out. Nestled in the pools was a jutting length of pipe, three meters wide and just as tall, its angle protruding from the direction of the wall. Its lid was covered over in two pieces of blast shield, connected to the pipe by what looked to be hydraulic clamps.

“That pipe’s our ticket in?” Andreas asked, Torres nodding as he passed back the scope.

“It’s how me and the boys got out. Demon patrols are light on this side, and they’re not a fan of the water. It’s about as safe as anything.”

“I have a question,” Eva said, her voice covering the local channel. “It does not seem very concealed. How has this secret entrance not been detected?”

“You see that tide pool it’s in? It’s actually man-made. There’s a control booth inside that can flood it or drain it at a moment’s notice, like our own little aquarium. They’ve probably had eyes on us for a while now, that’s why it’s drained right now.”

They began to move down the slope, Andreas struggling to keep his footing on the silt. The way the chain of craters was formed made it seem like a great moat surrounded the wall. The squad didn’t move down it, however, turning off just before the drop and walking parallel to the Rallypoint.

“You said something about demon patrols?” Andreas asked. “How big?”

“Couple dozen each, I’d say. Imps, arch-villes, couple revenants too. They like to stay close to the wall, set up shop where the guns can’t get an angle. You can see a camp just over there.”

Torres pointed down the length of the wall, the opposite direction they were going. Clustered around its footprint were a handful of stone walls, sunken into the ground at odd angles. Lanky figures moved between the gaps, mostly imps, but Andreas could also spot the tall profile of a hell knight and even a paunchy mancubus, two of the heavier casts employed by Hell.

The lingering demons were sheltered from the sky by what looked like suspended stretches of tarp, but when Andreas took a closer look, his face contorted in disgust. The stretching fabric was pink, streaked with veins and bearing an uncanny resemblance to taut skin, its corners hooked into the concrete via ivory claws and teeth.

There were other, similar encampments stretching along the moat, demons of all shapes and sizes scattered in and around the abhorrent structures. Laying between these camps were appendages dozens of feet tall, their undersides brimming with suckers and thorns, their tips ending in wicked points. They looked like disembodied tentacles from some giant squid monster. Some tentacles were propped up against the wall, severed from whatever monstrosity had birthed them. Perhaps the demons had once tried using them to climb over the defences.

The whole scene looked like some perverted version of a medieval siege camp, the demons taking on the strangely passive role of waiting out the defenders. Maybe that was why Sharrya was after him so much – the Rallypoint hardly made a good outlet if they stayed behind their two-hundred-foot wall and never came out.

Enjoy it while it lasts, Andreas thought, touching the pocket where he kept the Shards.

A bestial cry permeated the air, Andreas and the squad turning around, spotting a figure about a hundred meters across the grim, blighted land. It was a Baron, Andreas locking eyes with Sharrya as she brandished a claw and jabbed it in his direction. Spittle flicked from her chops as she repeated the call, the noise sending a chill down Andreas’ spine.

He chanced a glance back towards the encampments. The demons were no longer lingering, they were moving, emerging from their fleshy camps and charging across the ash.

“This Baron’s really out for your ass!” Torres called, waving his men on. “Come on, boys, double time!”

They started to run, racing towards the shore. Andreas could feel the impact of Sharrya’s hooves as she gave chase to the squad, her long legs carrying her swiftly over the silt. A glance over his shoulder told him they’d never outrun her out in the open like this.

Andreas turned about, dropping to a knee as he raised his rifle, Sharrya baring her long tusks at him as he opened up on her. Plasma bolts singed into her arms as she used her limbs like a shield, protecting her face and chest. Torres’ squad immediately knew what he was doing, the clatter of their ballistic guns joining his bolts as they laid down suppressive fire on the Baron.

She grunted something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like miscreants, Sharrya throwing herself behind a dune and out of sight, flicks of ash thrown up as some of the soldiers kept her pinned. Swinging ninety degrees to the left, Andreas prepared to fire on the oncoming swarm, but a glove on his shoulder stopped him.

“You need to go, Sarge!” Torres shouted. “Get to the pipe, we’ll cover you!”

“Now’s not the time to play the hero, Corporal,” Andreas replied.

“Sir, we’re just the expeditionary force. You’re the ranking officer, and you’ve got precious cargo. You’re the priority.”

“Fuck your priorities, nobody’s getting left behind. We’ll leapfrog,” he said. “Three at a time, you and two others go first. That’s an order. Go!”

Torres hesitated, but a strong shove on Andreas’ part spurred him into action. He called for two of the men, and they joined him as he raced towards the sea. By the time Andreas had returned his attention to the demons, the swarm had already crossed half the distance, dozens of imps interspersed with heavy-class demons baring down on him.

Andreas squared his sights up with a hell knight spearing the pack, easily the fastest of the lot. The beast had a bulkier build compared to the imps lagging behind it, nearly rivalling Sharrya in its overall height. It stomped on a pair of digitigrade legs tipped with fat, clawed toes, the pink flesh on its thighs and arms bulging with each stride. The top half of its head looked like an exposed skull, vacuum-packed in a thin layer of skin, while its lower half was more or less human, albeit with a lack of eyes or a nose.

Andreas put a burst of plasma bolts into its chest, the last of which melting a chunk out of its pectoral. The demon tried to continue to charge them down, but a round from one of the squad members put it down for good.

“We’re covering!” Torres called into the channel. “Vamos, vamos!”

Andreas and his two cohorts leapt to their feet, following in the footsteps of the Corporal and his team. Leapfrogging was a common tactic in most units, where two teams took turns to move positions while one covered the other. It was a coordinated move, but everything around Andreas was pure chaos. Bullets flew one way, fireballs went the other, the loose ground causing him to stagger more than once, making him feel like he was trying to sprint through ankle-deep tar.

He passed the Corporal’s group, continuing on another thirty meters before the ash gave way to uneven shards of rock. The rocky shore spread out and below him, the formations of the stone taking on the appearance of angled stalagmites, clusters of algae and moss growing between the cracks adding a splash of colour that was striking in this hellscape.

His two counterparts turned to lay down covering fire, picking off the imps and arch-villes that were closing in on the Corporal’s team, Andreas raising his rifle to join them. He fired between Torres and one of the soldiers, the plasma stream cutting a swath through the demonic ranks, but they must have drawn the attention of the entire siege, more demons moving down the Rallypoint wall towards the commotion. Torres had said there was enough of them that he couldn’t see the ground, and Andreas was starting to believe him.

“Smoke out!” one of the soldiers called, pulling a canister from his rigging and unlocking the pin. He tossed it over the head of Torres, where it rolled to a stop before exploding in a puff of grey gas. Another soldier chucked another canister, a low wall of thick, obscuring smoke coalescing at the Corporal’s flank.

“Down here, come on!” Torres exclaimed, hopping into the closest pool, his boots splashing in the water. The rest of the team followed him down, Andreas moving down last. The smoke would help conceal them, but they only had precious seconds before the demons would simply walk through.

Pure adrenaline fuelled the team as they crossed from one pool to the next, the sounds of splashing water and gunfire mingling over one another. When they arrived at the pipe, it was bigger than Andreas first thought, about as large as a vault door and just as heavy, steel plates inches thick forming a cap over the entrance.

There was a whir of electronics, and the cap began to part down the middle, the two halves sliding away to reveal a gaping darkness. The lower rim was suspended a few feet off the ground, one of the soldiers throwing himself onto the ledge, slinging his rifle as he turned to help the next man up.

Andreas, Torres, and the third soldier kept watch as they filed into the pipe one at a time, barrels scanning the cliffside for targets. They didn’t have to wait long, Sharrya’s hooves kicking loose stones as she appeared on the cliff, smoke ribboning over her emerging form.

“You’re not getting in that fort, Andreas,” she purred, as if this was all a game to her. Andreas replied with an eye roll, exaggerating his head movement for emphasis. Torres tilted his head at their exchange, then fired his rifle at her.

“You on a first-name basis with that thing?” the Corporal asked, pulling the loading bolt back.

“It’s complicated,” Andreas replied.

The bullet ripped through Sharry’s bicep, blood misting behind her arm, but the demoness didn’t even flinch. She leapt from her perch, the ground quaking as she landed on a knee amongst the rocks a stone’s throw away.

Her lips peeled back in a grin as her underlings leapt to join her. Two, three, four arch-villes landed at her feet, along with another hell knight, more pouring in by the second as the swarm breached the smoke cloud.

As the sound of plasma bolts and high-calibre bullets rose into the air, the clatter pervaded here and there by a warbling cry from a felled demon, a new sound rose above the tumult. The reinforced mechanisms securing the pipe’s cap were shifting back into position, closing off their escape one slow inch at a time.

“Come on, sirs!” one of the soldiers yelled. “We’re out of time!”

The rest of the squad had clambered up, leaving just him and the Corporal out in the open. Two men stood in the pipe’s mouth and covered, Andreas and Torres breaking cover and moving for their exit.

Andreas hoisted himself up first, his kneepads soaking as he crouched over a small dribble of water running along the cusp of the ceramic pipe. As he turned to help the Corporal, his eyes tracked a yellow fireball coming straight for them. He tried to yell out, but too late, the inferno slamming into the small of Torres’ back.

He'd been in the middle hoisting a leg into the pipe, and the impact threw off his balance, the man loosing a pained grunt as he was sent falling back. He would have been crushed by the doors, or worse, if Andreas hadn’t reached out and seized his arm and pulled him back.

One of the soldiers knelt down to help him, the two dragging Torres out of the closing doors’ path. Another fireball was sent their way, but it splashed harmlessly against the pipe’s lip.

“Get back,” Andreas ordered, passing Torres off to the soldiers, the men dragging the groaning Corporal further down the pipe, the three other squad members making room. Andreas turned and unloaded his plasma cell into the closing gap, knocking down two of the demons trying to close in on the pipe.

When the sliver closed to the point he could no longer shoot safely through, Andreas held his fire, smoke wisping from the end of his weapon. Barely a sliver remained between the doors, and Andreas made to release a sigh of relief, when two red hands slipped through the gap.

Andreas watched in startlement as fingers as long as his hand curled, gripping the steel edges and pulling outwards. Complaining metal groaned down the length of the pipe, Andreas blinking as the familiar features of Sharrya appeared through the gap. Her face was scrunched with effort, the muscles in her streamlined shoulders flexing as she fought against several tonnes of pneumatic pressure. Surely even she wasn’t strong enough to fight against pistons… was she?

“You think this changes anything?” she growled, meeting his eyes through the crack, the Baron chuckling as he pulled up his rifle threateningly. “You’ve cornered yourself, like the rest of the rats in there. You can’t run anymore, and now you can’t hide either. When I break down these walls, nothing will stop me from claiming you.”

“I think you’ll find these walls are for your benefit,” Andreas replied, putting a light pressure on the trigger. “Earth’s our home, Sharrya, and I think you’ve outstayed your welcome.”

“Even with your back to the wall, you still possess so much fire,” she mused. “Being my prisoner isn’t as bad as it sounds, I believe I made that quite clear by showing you much leniency. If only you hadn’t been so foolish as to try and escape,” she sighed, her eyes glazing as she chewed her lip. “I never got to show you the true extent of my hospitality. I can be oh so generous to mortals I find… intoxicating.”

“I like you too, crazy-horns,” he laughed, not sure if her ‘hospitality’ involved torture or something… more than that. “You’re right about one thing, though. This is the last time you’ll see me running from you. If I could shit on your parade all by myself,” he added, pointing a finger at her face, his glove barely an inch from her snout. “Imagine what I can do with an army at my back.”

He had intended that as a threat, but instead, Sharrya responded with a gleaming smile, a sparkle of anticipation in her emerald eyes.

“If it’s your intention to meet me on the battlefield… I welcome the challenge.”

“I know you do.”

“Until then, Seargent,” she cooed. With a wink, her hand fell away, the theory of whether she could overpower the doors left unanswered as she let the doors close the rest of the way. Her curled lips was the last thing Andreas saw before the lid closed and he was plunged into darkness.

A tumbling mechanism nearby sounded off, the doors locking with an audible clunk of metal on metal. With that, the treacherous streets of Spain were sealed away, Andreas fighting the urge to collapse right then and there. Never before had he spent so much time exposed to the elements, every moment promising an attack from above, below, behind, anywhere, with Sharrya on his case since the moment he’d crash-landed. He felt like he’d gone through Hell and back, and in a way, he had.

Andreas was filled with a sense of elation, like he’d just spent an extended period of time underwater, and finally breached the surface to breathe, all the adrenaline bleeding out of his muscles to leave them sore.

“Corporal,” he started, using his rifle like a crutch to prop himself up. “You good?”

“Armour took the most of it, I’ll live,” Torres replied. Deeper into the pipe, the rest of the squad lingered around their officer, one of them supporting him by the arm.

One of the men offered a hand, pulling Andreas to his feet. With the pipe shut and the demons safely behind it, he took a moment to take in his new surroundings. The walls of the pipe were worn, discoloured markings giving away where the water level would usually sit. It was almost pitch black, a solitary fluorescent cast a deep shade of red at the rear of the pipe, which terminated at a wall with a sloped bottom a short distance away.

Torres’ team began to move deeper inside, Andreas taking up the rear. There was a step ladder just beyond the wall-mounted light, Andreas craning his neck to see it led to a hatch. Once Torres was able, he climbed up first, a box of white light shining down as he opened the hatch.

They moved up one at a time, and when it was Andreas’ turn, eh found himself emerging into a metal corridor, bulbs suspended from the ceiling bathing it in artificial light. The hatch leading from the pipe was by a junction, the path splitting at a right angle. Doors numbered in incremental order lined the walls every few meters, more intersections splitting off in the distance leading deeper into the compound.

“This is one of the wards,” Torres explained, noting his stare. “One of three, they make up the first few underground levels of the base.”

“The civvies live here?” Andreas asked.

“Not in here, no. People don’t like sleeping this close to the pipe. Go figure. The Commander said to bring you to her once you were inside, shall we go?”

Andreas replied by removing his helmet, and passing it off to the Corporal, Torres flashing him a skeptical look.

Before Torres could speak, Andreas stepped up to the closest door, finding it unlocked. Inside was a small bedroom with a walk-in bathroom, and after a quick check to make sure it was empty, he moved over to the bed, and collapsed onto the mattress face-down without a word.

A bewildered Corporal and his team stood just outside the door, looking to one another, unsure of what to do now that their mission of complete.

“So,” Torres said. “Should I get the Commander, or…?”

One of the men shrugged, his pauldrons creaking with the movement.

“I wouldn’t,” Eva said, using the helmet’s speakers to address them. “He’s not slept in over forty hours, leave him be. Now, if you would bring me to Valeria, I’ll debrief her.”

“Oh, sure. You got it, robot lady,” Torres said, giving the helmet an affirmative tap.

“It’s AI,” Eva corrected. “And don’t hit the lattice.”

-xXx-

The pocket of condensing energies gave off a resonating hum, its pitch screaming into her eardrums as the manifold collected her, thrusting her across dozens of kilometres. Sharrya was already marching by the time the portal deposited her back into the courtyard surrounding her cathedral, her hooves making deep clicks against the paved path.

The throngs of cultists parted before her as surely as water parted around a stone. Her tendency to walk straight through anyone caught in her path probably had something to do with their eagerness to move aside. Only one of the possessed turned to follow her, dipping his hooded head in respect, one she replied with a nonchalant snort.

“My esteemed Baroness,” the priest drawled. “It pleases me to see you return safely from the front lines. I assume your endeavours were a success?”

“Success?” she barked, storming up to the cathedral doors. “Maykyr’s be dammed, I’ve never experienced such a catastrophic failure! That little delinquent escaped my grasp once again, all thanks to the petulant efforts of these mutated upstarts!”

“Word reached me of the betrayal some time ago,” the priest said, leading with his staff as he followed her inside. “I’ve already sent messengers to all corners of your territory; their skulls shall adorn your mantles within the day. I beg your pardon, Baroness,” he added, glancing between his bare feet. “I swear, I possessed no knowledge that such disgruntled creatures were present in the legions.”

Sharrya paused, turning to face the priest. Her eyes were quite literally on fire at that moment, the corrupted human uttering a pitiful squeak that barely caught her ear.

“Yes you did,” she accused, bending over to demonstrate her superior height. “Every time you request an audience, you’ve always made a note that something should be done to occupy our forces in this period of waiting. You knew something like this was inevitable.”

All that came out was air when the priest opened his mouth, his quivering breaths washing over her snout. He winced away as if expecting her to strike him, but she responded to his fears with a deep sigh.

“And so did I.”

Sharrya rose away from him, dragging a hand down her face. The priest’s expression remained timid, clambered with insecurity, but now a shade of surprise crossed his puckered face.

“I failed to heed your warnings,” she added. “Boredom and inconsideration clouded my judgement, and you remained ever incessant despite this. You were more dutiful than I, and I apologise for it.”

The priest had the expression of an adolescent discovering his first raunchy magazine, nearly dropping his staff as he processed the last eight seconds.

“M-My Baroness,” he began, exasperated. “I am unworthy of your apologies, it is you who suffered from the imp’s tactless decisions, not I.”

“Priest, I do not give out apologies lightly, and there will not be a second time. Do yourself a favour and just accept it, I order you.”

He nodded enthusiastically, perhaps not trusting his voice to get the message. Usually the lack of a verbal answer annoyed her, but she let it slide this time. Despite her lingering troubles, she was in a very lenient mood, and it wasn’t just the priest who was shocked by the development.

Perhaps her recent interactions with Andreas had something to do with it. In all the worlds she’d hopped to and from, she’d never opened up to someone before. Sure, there had been a few flings with other Baron’s she found worthy of her attentions, but there had been no meaning to them, and the deep opposition she felt with the Seargent was just the right amount of thrill in such a connection.

Oh how she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. Andreas had to feel the same as she was – how could he not? She knew it was difficult to form connections when you served your people in all things, never stopping to ponder on how you could serve yourself. She wanted him to see she was his answer to that.

But wanting would not make it so. Waiting around had got her nowhere, now was the time to act.

“Recall your messengers,” she said, regaining her composure and making for the end of the hall. “Leave the rebelling imps be, we have far more pressing issues that need tending.”

“O-Of course,” the priest replied, nearly dropping his staff as he hurried after her. “And… what might those issues be?”

“Andreas has slipped into the fortress – assisted by one of those meddlesome patrols they like to send out. It does not take a genius to realise he is there for a reason.”

“’A-Andreas’, my Baroness?” the priest inquired. At first she thought he was joking, but she realised only she knew Andreas by name.

“The… soldier, the would-be Slayer?” she explained, the priest nodding in understanding. “He entered the fortress through this passage I wasn’t aware of.. At first I thought it was for survival’s sake, but the harder he fought, the more we spoke, and when that patrol picked him up… I’ve been led to believe that something more is afoot. He is of special importance to the Rallypoint, and I must know why.”

“But, he is beyond your reach now,” the priest muttered, giving her a weary glance as he considered his next words. “-what I mean is, he has encased himself in a highly defensible position. The Rallypoint has access to hydroponic farms, water purifiers, and sophisticated robotic foundries according to scouting reports. They are self-sufficient and heavily armed.”

“Yes, yes, I know of the Rallypoint’s capabilities.”

“Then, in your expertise, how do you plan on getting to this, ‘Andreas’? We cannot bypass the walls with portals while that suppression field of theirs is in place.”

“You just answered your own question, priest.”

The echo of clopping hooves bounced off the gothic walls as Sharrya swept to the rear of the lobby, passing through a set of iron doors at the rear of the space. Beyond the threshold, the ground ramped through a corridor, the priest following Sharrya as she walked deeper into the Earth.

“You mean to disable the field?” he asked. “But the generator lies in the very heart of the fortress, how can it be accessed? Do you plan on using the same passage Andreas used to get inside?”

“They flooded it with neck-deep water shortly after he escaped,” Sharrya explained, moving through another set of swinging doors, the hinges creaking as she thrust them open. “And such a narrow bottleneck will be lethal for any infiltrating force regardless. Any plan involving stealth is out of the question.”

“That only leaves one option,” the priest remarked, sparing her a pensive glance. “You wish to assault them directly.”

“Wish? I do not wish, I demand an assault. For too long have we been sitting idle, a fireball’s throw from their refuge, spilling our own blood while the humans rest and recoup. Our forces are fickle, I see that now. The only way to save ourselves, bring us victory, and earn myself distinction among the Maykyrs is to take the fight to them.”

They emerged into a dim cellar, the sconces lining the obsidian brickwork duplicating their shadows. Alien weapons and armour pieces suspended on chains and mounted on pedestals scattered among the room. Their ethereal nature and layout gave off an exhibitionist flair, but towards the rear half of the room were more familiar apparatus. Swords, battleaxes, cybernetic augments that replaced regular limbs, among many other tools and armaments favoured by Hell.

“My Baroness, I would never question your decisions,” the priest murmured. “But, your forces failed you the last time you gave such an order, and the cost of the attempt took a toll on your war effort.”

“I will not let such defiance go unanswered,” Sharrya growled. “When Andreas and his dropships deployed to the continent, it was you who suggested I let them pass as a means of introducing change. Well, change has been bountiful as of late, and this time there will be change…”

“Our legions at the camps are too thin to stage an attack,” the priest reminded.

“So bring them more,” she growled, growing impatient. “Whip the summoners, deploy the reserves, send your messengers to the corners of the front, bring every single claw and horn to bear on that Rallypoint!”

A section of the wall on their left broke off into a narrow passage, the sounds of metallurgy and pumping heat echoing from the depths. Smithed weapons were created directly beneath the cathedral to arm the masses, but the pieces here were for her use only.

“And send for the gore nest guardians as well,” she added, striding between two weapon racks. “and deploy my cyberdemon honour guard, too. They have spent enough time sitting on their hands here at the cathedral.”

“H-How many do you wish – demand – to send?”

“All of them! Did I not just say I want every legion we have moving to that Rallypoint?”

“W-We would leave the whole continent undefended,” the priest said. “The nests, the cathedral, it would all be open to attack.”

“Annihilating the Rallypoint is all that matters,” she said. “They will hardly pose a risk to our assets if we occupy them with a surprise attack. With each of my legions deployed on the offence, our superiority in numbers will assure a swift victory.”

“The humans have access to the largest artillery guns left on the planet. Heavy bombardment will make quick work of such sheer numbers. With respect, Baroness, in comparison to your prior attacks, I fear little to no change.”

“Change,” she muttered. “is exactly what will assure our victory.”

“Baroness?” he asked, following Sharrya as she reached the far end of the cellar, stepping up to a gate built into a section of the wall. A small space was released behind the bars, Sharrya turning a nearby switch. There was a bumping noise, and then the gate began to maw open, the priest going speechless as he stared at what lay behind it.

Draped over an arranged set of poles, a suit of mechanical armour posed in a resting position, its bright blue colour contrasting against the dark bricks. The leggings were comprised of three pieces total - a sloping plate for the thighs, a thin piece for her shins, and a angled piece that would fit comfortably against her digitigrade legs, with a splayed open cap so her hooves stuck out from the bottom.

The chest piece was narrow and slim, the section covering the belly protruding out into a pair of distinct orbs as they neared the clavicle. There were textures engraved into the alloy, thin white lines branching over and around to the back piece, the tracings similar to what one might find on a circuit board.

Heavy shoulder pads spikes with coils capped one end of the gauntlets, pads designed to fit around the knuckles making the other. Conjoining them was a sleeve of blue alloy, more metal teeth forming rings over the forearm.

Lastly, the helmet, Sharrya having to angle her head a little to meet the solitary, narrow slit forming the visor. The mouthguard was split in twain, designed to be worn with the user’s mouth exposed, while the metal cap was a whole piece inches thick, with two branching horns of grey metal poking out from the ears.

She could see her reflection in the battlesuit, the light from the sconces making it sparkle under her scrutiny. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the priest regarding the armour with wonder, and Sharrya couldn’t help but share the sentiment. She had not worn this armour in centuries, but she’d be dammed before letting it fester in the darkness of her cathedrals.

“This is change,” Sharrya muttered, reaching out to pluck at the suit with her claw. The suit made a little plinking sound as the keratin touched the breastplate. “I, along with my elite guard, will be the tip of the spear. The legions will be the haft, and together we will tear down that bastion once and for all.”

She reached for the right-hand gauntlet, where a bright red flail stood at the side of the armour. She gripped the wrappings on the pole, then brandished it in front of her chest, its familiar weight hitting her in a wave of pleasant nostalgia.

“Your personal involvement will certainly even the odds,” the priest mused, flinching when she thumbed a mechanism that let the spiked ball slink off the handle, the attaching chain making an echoing, rattling noise throughout the cellar.

“I will do more than just even them. Once I disable the guns, I will personally rip out the heart of their suppression field generator. That will be your cue to flood the fortress with portals, from there you will portal through every possessed you can, sowing chaos and allowing the rest of the legions to bypass the walls directly. From there, victory is inevitable.”

The priest locked his fingers together thoughtfully. “Your wisdom is matched only by your tactical supremacy, my Baroness. Ripping apart that eyesore shall be your most glorious hour.”

“Indeed,” Sharrya said, rolling her eyes. She must have assuaged his concerns if he was switching back to petty compliments. “Now, send for the legions, direct them to the Rallypoint, I will be there to assemble them shortly.”

The priest nodded, turning for the exit. He got about halfway through the armoury before she called out to him.

“Priest!” she shouted. “One last thing.”

He turned, bowing for her to continue.

“Listen to me very carefully. The human, Andreas, is mine. He is not to be touched or harmed in any way. Any demon who so much as growls in his direction, I will burn them so hard they will have blisters the size of cacodemons. And if you or any of your messengers fail to get across my point, priest, being burned alive will look like paradise in comparison to what I’ll do to you. Am I clear?”

The priest’s eyes widened to the size of plates, but he did reply with a nod. Or maybe that was him just trembling like a leaf, but Sharrya motioned for him to leave either way.”

“And if he is spotted, I am to be warned and portalled to his location immediately,” she added. “Now begone, I have work to do.”

The little taps of his naked feet quickly faded, leaving Sharrya alone in the armoury. She let the flail rest on one shoulder, using her other hand to pluck the robotic helmet from its stand. It was heavy, even for her, and for a minute all she could hear was the crackle of flames as she and the little yellow visor had a staring contest.

If I could shit on your parade all by myself, imagine what I can do with an army at my back.

“Oh, Andreas,” she chuckled. “Such poor, poor choice of words…”

-xXx-

Andreas awoke with a chortle, an uneasy sensation causing his eyes to drift open. A dangling chain of drool curled onto his cheek as he propped himself on his elbows, the soft texture of the pillow lingering on his scuffed cheek as he took in his surroundings. A set of drawers were propped up in one corner, its surface stacked with a small potted plant, and a framed photo of a lighthouse sweeping its beam over crashing waves. Beside it was a sliding door, a tiled bathroom visible through the gap. A table and chair were the only other things decorating the room.

How had he wound up in a hotel, what had happened? It took a moment to regroup his memories. Sneaking around the siege camp, the pipe, the Baroness taunting him as those reinforced doors closed her off from him. His shoulders and neck ached like a motherfucker from power-napping with the armour still on, but the sense of refreshment coursing through his blood put such complaints to rest.

He swung his legs over the mattress, his boots touching soft carpet. As he rubbed his crusty eyes, his thoughts turned to that feeling that had woken him up, and part of him concluded it was a sensation born from being watched. He took another glance around the room, and this time he saw something else.

Hovering five feet above the ground was a drone, peering down at him with a bright, blue sensor that served as its eyepiece. Its circular body was about sixty centimetres in diameter, with its upper half composed of a white, smooth lid capping a set of hydraulic pincers with rubber-lined grippers. A quiet humming noise filled the room as its unseen propulsion systems kept it gently bobbing in the air.

“Fuck off, drone, I’m napping.” He plopped back onto the bed, face-first.

“I know you’ve never been a morning person, but can’t you make an exception for me, Seargent?”

He did a double take on the drone, eyebrows raising in recognition. “Eva? Where the Hell did you get a Dropper from?”

“You like it?” she asked, the lower pincers staying in place as she twirled the casing in a full three-sixty. “The engineers at the foundry had a couple lying around. I felt bad having Corporal Torres carry your helmet around all the time, so I had them upload a copy of myself into one. The sensor suite is a little rustic,” she added, flexing her pincers at him. “but now that I have arms, my abilities have expanded tenfold compared to that cramped little helmet. If you’ll turn your attention to the table, I think you’ll agree with the sentiment.”

She gestured with a pincer, a pile of steaming bacon with a side of poached eggs sat on a tray on the table, the crispy smell finally registering in Andreas’ mind. Eva hummed in amusement as his prior tiredness was instantly erased, Andreas taking a seat before the food.

“Breakfast delivery? I think I’m all for this.”

“Technically this is supper, you’ve been sleeping for thirteen hours.”

He paused with a forked piece of bacon an inch from his lips, giving the drone an are you serious look. “Shit, thirteen? How come nobody woke me up?”

“A couple tried, but I had the door locked. I considered it a health risk to interrupt your sleep cycle – though it’s more like a sleep scribble at this point. Few dirty looks from the senior officers, but they don’t have the authority to order ARC around.”

Andreas regarded the drone thoughtfully. She was usually a stickler for the rules, so imagining her sectioning off this room from the base’s owners was an odd shift in character. Odd, but far from unpleasant.

“Thank you, Eva,” he said. “Going through debriefing was the last thing on my mind once we got through the pipe. Still is.”

“Thirteen hour-long naps are the least you deserve,” Eva replied, hovering closer as Andreas dug into his meal. “You made it. It came down to the wire several times, what with all the leaping off buildings, blowing up nests, slicing through demonic hordes, all while having this estranged with that Baroness, but you made it, Seargent.”

“Never doubted me for a second though, right?,” Andreas asked, speaking between mouthfuls.

“Oh, no, I definitely had my doubts, especially when we were captured. But you pulled through, like always.”

“Hey, we pulled through,” he corrected. “It was a team effort. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there to reign me in when things got hairy.”

“You’d likely still be out in the streets, fighting the good fight,” she chuckled. “In all seriousness, the credit is yours. You’re the one who was shot by eighty-seven fireballs, nearly a quarter of which hit or grazed you.”

“Well that’s going to change soon,” Andreas said, smirking. “Now that you’ve got a drone, you can charge right into the line of fire with me.”

“On second thought, being confined to your helmet wasn’t all that bad,” she mused, Andreas chuckling at her.

His meal was had double portions, but Andreas scoffed the meal down in a matter of minutes, Eva filling him in on what had happened while he was out. She had written up a digital report and used the Rallypoint’s intranet to send a status update back to the carrier, and apparently the Admiral expressed relief upon hearing that he was still alive and well, and to continue the mission to the best of his ability.

He asked about Torres and the rest of his section – the ones that had come in on the dropships, Eva explaining that they were somewhere in the main headquarters.

“Commander Valeria is there too. Remember her?” Eva asked. “She wished to speak with you as soon as you woke up, so we can hit two birds with one stone if we go straight to her.”

“Duty never stops calling, I guess,” Andreas said, burping into his hand. As much as he enjoyed a hot meal and the warm bed, he knew that Sharrya was on the move right this moment, and he should do the same. “Lead the way, Eva. Wait,” he added. “Where’re my guns?”

“I took them to the armoury for cleaning and refitting,” Eva explained, her drone tilting in his direction. “Don’t give me that look. These people have been safeguarding the complex for months by themselves, you don’t have to carry a gun everywhere you go.”

He took her word for it, following the drone out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. Eva floated off to the right, Andreas glancing back at the hatch that led out into the pipe, the sound of sloshing water very distant and quiet. As Torres had said, they must have flooded it once they were all safe inside.

The ward was a series of whitewashed hallways, arranged in perfect grids. Eva hovered at around chest height as she drifted around the corners, the intersections signed with arrows pointing to different sectors of the base. Wards from A through to D took up most of the list, along with Barracks and Security, but the one they followed was ICC.

After a few turns, Andreas saw a pair of men walking the other way. They were dressed like militia, wearing surplus armour with submachine guns slung over their shoulders, carrying themselves not quite like soldiers, but not quite like civvies either. They called him by name and rank as though they had just enlisted in his unit, regarding him with an awe that didn’t sit right with Andreas. He gave them a curt nod and went on his way, but he could still feel their eyes on his neck long after.

At the next turn, three more people idled around a door, two men and a woman. Military surplus and close quarters weaponry was present also, and once again Andreas found himself being noticed and saluted, their displays of respect underlined by looks of surprise and reverence. Andreas decided to speak up once they were out of earshot.

“Why’s everyone looking at me like I’m the al-Gaib or something?” Andreas asked.

“I told you,” Eva said, her drone flying backwards as she turned her eye on him. “These people have had little to do but watch the world around them slowly be consumed. You can imagine how hard it was to hold onto hope that any of them would live through this seige. So when reports that a lone man fought through the hordes and destroyed a gore nest in the process gets around, well, you can imagine how people might see you as the next best thing to the Slayer’s return.”

“Don’t tell me I have to give a speech or something.”

“Once word starts to spread that you’re awake, it may be possible the Commander would ask such a thing,” she replied, spinning her chassis in a drone-version of an eyeroll. “Come on, Seargent, facing down a horde of imps while a Baron of Hell threatens to seduce you, that’s nothing, but you’re scared of speaking to a crowd?”

“I’m not scared,” he insisted, but deep down, a part of his chest tightened with anxiety.

A couple passes with more militia groups later, and Eva was leading him down a corridor capped with a reinforced bulkhead, the frame flanked by two guards in black combat armour. They carried heavy assault rifles, their gear equivalent to his. This must be the way to the ICC.

Either the two guards recognised Eva’s drone, or they knew who Andreas was, one of them turning to hit the control panel. They saluted crisply as the metal door opened up like the bars of a gate to a castle’s keep.

As he stepped through, the glow of dozens of terminal screens reflected off the front of his armour, the climate-controlled air leaving a chilly taste in his throat. Most of the command centre’s floorspace was taken up by concentric rings of polished desks, wide curved monitors and data projections lining their surfaces. Men and women typed furiously as they leaned over their workstations, the clacking of keys rising above the murmur of conversation. Instead of walls, a large monitor curled around the room, the display broken up into smaller sections to show numerous data feeds of the base’s critical systems. A map of planet Earth dominated the majority of this display, with red blobs showing Hell’s forces, and blue blobs for ARC’s. There was a lot more of the former than the latter.

Beyond the terminal rings, circular tablets flanked the room, soldiers in combat gear pouring over maps and discussing among themselves, one of the groups catching Andreas’ attention. About ten men were clustered around one such table, wearing black shirts with rolled up sleeves, and dark pants that ended just above their combat boots. Over their vests they wore tactical rigs with pockets full of weapons mags, and while most of their combat armour was missing, the ARC logo on their shoulders was easy to pick out.

When he looked at their faces, recognition bloomed inside him, and he suppressed a grin as he made his way over, going completely unnoticed even as he stood right behind one of the men.

“Stand up straight, Kowalksi. I’m gone for a couple days and you think that makes it okay to slouch?”

The Private, Kowalski, stood to attention without missing a beat. Then he furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder, his suspicion morphing to surprise.

“S-Seargent? Holy shit, man, it’s good to see you!” He slapped the Seargent on the shoulder. “Hey, everyone, look who’s back from the dead.”

The team had been engrossed in their report, but now they were turning their attention to Andreas, the men lining up to welcome him back to the section. Among the Privates was their Corporal, the team leader explaining that the rest of the section was down in the canteen getting some R&R, and he’d let them know Andreas was up as soon as he could.

Once they’d all welcomed him back, they didn’t waste time pressing him for details on what had happened since his dropship was shot down. Andreas did his best to fill them in on his journey, with Eva adding in her own comments, usually ones that explained in detail on how Andreas preferred to hold his ground rather than cede it.

This did not surprise the men in the slightest. In fact, the squad filled the command centre with laughter at the suggestion of retreat, the little drone scowling at them grumpily. They earned a few odd looks from the terminal operators, but the squad was too engrossed in his story to pay them any mind.

What did surprise them, was his interactions with Sharrya (he called her the Baroness, just to save face), and while some of them thought little of it, a few of their number regarded him with a keener interest. Perhaps they’d picked up on his subtle shift in tone when forced to discuss her, and how he didn’t quite speak of her like she were a demon, but a combatant who was both skilled and cunning.

“You speak fondly of that Baron,” a new voice said suddenly. New, but not unfamiliar. “For me, fondness is the last way I’d describe that puta.”

Andreas turned around. A woman in a white, pristine uniform stood with her hands clasped behind her back, the dark trimmings of her belt and collar standing out against the ironed fabric. She looked older than Andreas by a few years, scars blemishing the sides of her face, the wounds giving her the look of a veteran.

Her brown hair was tied up in a neat bun, Andreas catching sight of it as she dipped her head in greeting. “You are Seargent Andreas, I recognise your voice. It is strange, that after all the suffrage Hell has caused us as a species, I expected antipathy for the Baron and her forces, not partiality.”

Her dark eyes regarded him with a sliver of confusion, or maybe that was suspicion. He recognised that tone – Eva’s complaints had run along the very same lines. Something told him he shouldn’t be as flippant this time around. This Commander had been harassed by Hell’s legions since day one, she’d no doubt lost people.

“Commander,” Andreas began, bringing his hand up for a salute. He continued after she waved for him to be at ease. “It’s true, I find the Baron’s strategies commendable, but that’s not because I’m sentimental. Fighting’s only half the battle, studying your opponent is where the real fights are won.”

“Know your enemy,” she said. He had a feeling that was as close to agreement as she was willing to say. “The only thing I’d like to know about that Baron is how to kill her, but it is good to know ARC has professionals leading their teams. Welcome to Rallypoint Gamma, Seargent.”

“Feels good to be behind some walls, Commander,” he said, appraising the room.

“I’d imagine so after the lengths you took to get here. Mi fuerte es to fuerte. Anything you need, just ask.”

“If you could give me and my section a target, I’d appreciate the hospitality.”

The corner of Commander Valeria’s lips curled. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you? I was hoping ARC would send someone like you. Walk with me, I would speak with you. Privately.”

“Just a moment, Commander,” Andreas said. “Corporal.”

One of the men from his section stepped forward. Andreas reached into his pack, and brought out a bundle of chainlinks. Hooked onto said chain links were silver tags with names printed into the metal.

“Keep these someplace safe,” Andreas said, handing the dog tags over, the Corporal handling them like they were made of glass. “They’re all that’s left of my squad.”

The Corporal made to pocket them, but the Commander held up a hand.

“You can take them to my personal office on level two, nobody but my most trusted are allowed there. May I also have the names of your dead? I made a promise to your Seargent that I would honour them.”

The Corporal looked to Andreas, who nodded wordlessly. He followed after Valeria as she turned to the door, the Commander’s leather shoes making crisp clicks against the floor.

“Thanks for that, Commander,” he said as they stepped into the hallway beyond. One of the door guards followed, escorting at a few paces behind them.

“So many have fallen these days,” Valeria muttered. “The few of us left should make time to pay respects.”

Eva slipped through the closing doors just in time, her lens exchanging a glance with their bodyguard as she floated down the hall.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Andreas prompted, Valeria pausing a moment before answering. She was a little shorter than he, her eyes level with his chin.

“Your superiors, ARC,” she began. “When they answered my distress call, they made it abundantly clear that my country was beyond saving, and they insisted that our next course of action should be evacuation. Are you of the same opinion?”

“This on or off the record?” Andreas asked.

“You can speak freely in my Rallypoint, Seargent. ARC may have absorbed all of Earth’s assets into itself, but I was in command here long before Samuel Hayden came back from his little trip to Mars Spain and its people are who I answer to first and foremost.”

Seeing he wasn’t about to be in for a reprimand, Andreas spoke his mind.

“Personally I like what you’re doing here,” he said. “There aren’t many places out there that can hold their own without ARC support like you have. Earth’s our home, it’s about time we started taking it back.”

“Couldn’t have put it any better myself, Seargent. My demand to your superiors followed those very same lines. War cannot be one through retreat alone. Did they tell you much about what your mission here in the Rallypoint would be?”

“They were a little more vague than I’d like,” he said, keeping up with her clean, measured strides. “They said we were to head out and lend you whatever assistance we could.”

“-Within reason,” Eva butted in. “And to ensure the safe delivery of our cargo.”

“That too,” Andreas added.

“Interesante. It does sound vague when you word it like that,” Commander Valaria said. “And when do you return to your carrier?”

“Not until you’re satisfied, I suppose.”

“So, in a manner of speaking, you are now under my command, si?” she asked. “Your entire section as well?”

“The section answers only to the Corporals and the Seargent,” Eva said, hovering urgently between their shoulders. “You’re not even classified as ARC personnel, you can’t give us orders.”

“No, I’m not ARC,” Valeria said, stopping at the next hallway to address the drone. “but the chain of command still applies, and as commanding officer of this facility, I’m responsible for every soul inside these walls, AI’s notwithstanding. You’ve been ordered to assist me, which makes me your CO until the moment I relieve you.”

Eva’s drone made a series of stuttering noises. She seemed to have lost the computation power to form words.

“And it’s all above board, too,” Andreas mused. “Is that why you brought me out here? Want me to go let the boys down easy?”

“I want your personal involvement in the next stage of our operation,” Valeria explained. “And don’t look at me like that,” she added, turning to Eva. “We are all in the same boat now, everyone must pick up a paddle.”

“Very well,” Eva sighed in resignation. “What would you have us do?”

Valeria pursed her lips in a small grin. “Row. Not to worry, I have the exact paddle in mind for you. You especially, Seargent, should find it most pleasing given what you’ve told me.”

The Commander led the way down the left turn, Andreas lingering back for a second. Eva buzzed up beside his head and used her pincers to shrug at him. Told you what? she seemed to say, but Andreas only replied with a confused shake of his head.

After a few more turns, Valeria led them to another bulkhead, the reinforced door sliding open to reveal an expansive courtyard, rays of afternoon sunlight drawing dusty beams in the air.

Rectangles of pristine grass danced in yards of green, spaced by pathways of cobbles flanked with tall lampposts. Pockets of wildflowers and even a few trees with wide tops lived in these luscious patches, without a shred of demonic flesh or blood in sight, recollections of that park he’d come across flashing through his thoughts.

These pockets of Eden gave way to enormous structures, warehouses with sloping roofs hundreds of meters long and tall, along with other facilities capped with glass domes, their sizes rivalling that of mansions of palaces. The walls of the Rallypoint dominated the backdrop of it all, the fortifications making it seem Andreas was stood in the middle of a supersized prison.

The place they’d emerged from was a structure extruded from the base of the southern wall. Only a sign above the bulkhead gave it away, the ward camouflaged directly into the fortification. Valeria led him out into the middle of the yard, a pair of soldiers walking down the path the other way stopping to salute her.

Looking to his left, Andreas saw a groundskeeper tending to a small garden flanking a shallow pond, a trowel clutched in his gloved hand. For all they knew, that might just be the last natural pond in Spain, or maybe all of Europe.

“Since its inception, the Rallypoint’s purpose was always to be a sanctuary,” Valiera said as they walked. “Underground hydroponics bays, state-of-the-art water recyclers, nuclear generators for electricity, all of it hidden behind four walls of concrete lined with automatic aircraft guns. It all culminates as a point of safety for humanity, as its name suggests.”

“And in order to maintain this safety, we were given blueprints to a robotics foundry, so that even our weaponry could be self-sufficient. Guns, vehicles, drones,” she added with a pointed look to Eva. “We could print anything we needed, but without access to an income of raw materials, we could not do so indefinitely. Nor could we defend ourselves indefinitely.”

“So you had ARC bring you a supply run,” Andreas said, nodding in understanding. “I remember seeing one of the dropships getting loaded up with crates of alloys. You want to get this foundry up and running again.”

“More than that, I want to turn this place from a Rallypoint, to a staging point. A dockyard for your fleet, and a beachhead to spear into the heart of Spain and the rest of Europe.”

“That’s a tall order, Commander,” Andreas said, a hint of doubt in his voice. “There are bigger and badder demons out there that make Baron’s look sweet in comparison.”

“

“Fortunately for us, the foundry has allowed us access to ‘bigger’ and ‘badder’ things as well, as you will soon see.”

Valeria was making her way to the warehouses on the far side of the complex, Andreas picking up the whirring of tools and the smell of copper as they drew closer. The one she was bringing him to rivalled the Rallypoint walls in terms of its size, the structure tens of storeys high. The massive door on its front side was yawned open, cargo trucks rolling in and out of the building, sticking the yellow lines painted on the stone before the entrance. The paths turned to stretches of road as they neared the barbed fence forming a perimeter around the warehouse.

Two armed guards stood at the end of the pathway, but they moved aside upon recognising the Commander, Andreas and Eva following her through a gap in the fence. They made a right turn, drawing into the warehouse, the bloom of the sun falling behind its slanted roof.

The interior of the warehouse was as vaulted as its exterior suggested, but the base personnel had made use of every square inch. Shelving units as tall as a house rowed the left and righthand sides, automatic forklifts weaving through the aisles, loaded with reinforced crates. These vehicles dumped their cargo off at the production lines centering the sheer space, where cables and beams drew metal webs over printing beds. Metal arms painted over in bright orange zipped across the beds, each sweep chased by hissing electronics. The way the arms swerved from one bed to the other as they completed their tasks was mesmerising in its fluidity.

Deeper into the complex, the clustered foundry opened up to a vacant floorplan, the space was wide and open as a stadium. There was something standing in the middle of the gallery, something massive, Andreas’ jaw dropping as he beheld a titan.

A giant battlesuit stood in wait beneath a wireframe of gantries. A set of robotic legs upheld a pair of jointed legs, each one measurable to a grain silo. The toes were splayed into four flaps, with nozzles that looked like they’d been ripped straight off a jet plane built between the armour plates. It seemed to grow even larger as Andreas’ eyes trailed upwards. There were two cockpit canopies on its torso, one on the sternum, and one where the head would be, the glass coloured a deep shade of crimson. Radar dishes and camera lenses were mounted behind the main cockpit, and to either side of this equipment were a pair of dual-barrelled turrets set atop the shoulders. Its armaments didn’t end there. Missile silos were built into recesses all along its flat chest, coupled with automatic gun turrets jutting from the belly and oblique areas. Its biggest weapon was the right arm, where the elbow joint gave way to a railgun barrel the size of which he’d only seen on ARC battleships. The left arm was more comparable to a human hand, save for the forearm attachment that looked suspiciously like an underbarrel grenade launcher.

The battlesuit was painted over in a matte grey colour highlighted with orange strips, standing at forty meters tall. Meters of room separated it from the ceiling, and this only seemed to add to the behemoth’s size.

“Holy shit…” Andreas muttered, Valeria letting slip a small grin at his bewilderment. “You built a first gen mech?”

“At considerable cost, and at the expense of the last of our alloy reserves,” Valeria affirmed. “We faced considerable delays during the evacuation efforts and the constant sieges, but now that things have somewhat calmed, it’s almost ready, bar a few critical components.”

“I take back what I said, you can do some real damage with one of these on hand.”

Valeria led him closer, he and Eva weaving between the production lines for a closer look. A sense of vertigo dreamed over the mech as he craned his neck to look at it in its entirety. Samuel Hayden, ARC’s founder, had personally designed the blueprints for planetwide distribution some years ago, though where he had gotten the inspiration for such never before seen weaponry had never been disclosed.

“I have been keeping this card close to my chest, so to speak,” Valeria added. “Its existence is only known to a handful of people, and I’ve had this particular part of the foundry as automated as possible to prevent an information leak. We’ve had issues in the past of demonic brainwashing.”

“So why’re you showing me this?” Andreas asked, turning his attention to the Commander.

“This will be the spearhead of our new offensive, and I want you to be personally involved when it’s time.”

“You… want me to pilot that thing?” Andreas asked.

“You have shown dedication, resilience, and exceptional ability getting here in one piece. You even said yourself you lean more towards offense than defence. I can think of no one more suited to becoming a mech pilot.”

“Commander, you have me sold,” Andreas said, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve always wanted to take a first gen for a twirl.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean would be piloting the gen one, Seargent. That one is yours.”

Andreas searched either side of the mech, but he couldn’t see any more battlesuits. That was, until his gaze lowered, his expression of excitement dwindling as he spotted a second, far smaller mech. This one was painted in olive green camouflage, its composition similar to the first gen, only scaled down to about a fifth of its size. The top of its cockpit skirted maybe six meters, maybe more.

“What the-? You show me this monster and then tell me I get the fun-size one?” Andreas sulked, Eva floating over to pat him on the shoulder with a manipulator.

“Seargent, gen ones are crewed by eight individuals, each having to go through six months of training at the minimum. A gen two is far easier to pilot in comparison, being a single-seater.”

“We only had so much material to spare after completing the chassis of the gen one,” Valeria explained. “but if you’re not happy with the mech, Seargent...”

“No no I’ll take it,” Andreas butted in. “Any suit’s better than no suit.”

“Good. Now, Eva has told me you still possess the cargo from your dropship. Do you have it with you?”

Andreas nodded, he’d brought his pack with him after Eva’s breakfast. He produced the two glass spheres, the argent shards suspended in their very centres, wisps of energy flowing from the metal like flames off a campfire.

After days of handling such delicate (and unstable) cargo, it felt good to relieve them, knowing that the delivery part of his mission had been a success.

“For such limitless sources of energy, they are such tiny things,” Valeria mused, holding a shard up to the light. “With just one of these, we can power that gen one for fifty years straight. Double that for the gen two. Eva tells me you lost the third one,” Valeria added, her eyes fixing on his. He could swear a hint of suspicion was lying beneath that gaze.

“Ah, that’s right. I only had enough time to grab two,” he lied. “Crash site was getting swarmed by the time I came too.”

That suspicion subsided, replaced with understanding.

“I’d have preferred to power both the gen two’s we’ve fabricated, but you’re not to blame, Seargent. Two mechs will suffice. They have to.”

The Commander pocketed the shards, returning her hands to their neatly clasped position.

“We should bring these down to R&D, make sure they’re ready to be plugged into the suit reactors. You can start getting a feel for your mech as soon as we get the go ahead,” Valeria said. “I plan to move forward with this new offensive in three days’ time, so there’s no need to rush over just yet.”

“Actually, there is a need to rush. Three days is too long, Commander.”

Valeria and Eva shared a glance, the Commander gesturing at him. “And what makes you think that, Seargent? Does my schedule not align with yours?”

“From what I’ve heard, you know who Sharrya is, right? The Baron of Hell who leads the demons in the city?”

“I know one or two things about her,” Valeria admitted, folding her arms pointedly. “Though, I wasn’t aware of her name. How do you know that?”

“She’s intercepted me more than once as I made my way over here,” he explained. “We’ve gotten a little familiar with each other since.”

“In more ways than one,” Eva whispered, Andreas shooting her a look.

“What are you getting at, Seargent?” Valeria asked.

“I think I’ve figured her out. Not too much, but enough to know what her gameplan is. She made it her personal mission to see me dead after the nest. She followed right up to the pipe your man Torres led me through. We had a few chats along the way, she’s proud, stubborn, aggressive.”

“You talked with her?” Valeria gawked. “What could a human and a demon have to discuss?”

He didn’t think Valeria would come take too kindly with the truth, of the kinds of advancements Sharrya had made on him, so he paused to make up something she’d believe instead.

“She likes to gloat,” he replied. “She was sure she’d had me cornered a couple times, but it was that arrogance I took advantage of, what we should take advantage of. Shar… the Baroness, has it out for me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s mustering every demon under her command for another siege. She’ll be back, sooner rather than later. We need to be ready before she is.”

“She has not struck at our walls in months,” Valeria countered. “How can you be sure?”

He made to answer, but Eva spoke up first.

“I’ve been analysing the Baroness also. If looks would kill, Andreas would be dead on the spot. As such, there is a significant chance that the Baron and her demons will retaliate before this three-day time plan you have set. With this knowledge, a pre-emptive strike would increase our chances of catching them off-guard, especially with a pair of mechsuits.”

“Very well, I trust the judgement of a supercomputer, and you as well, Seargent. You know this Baroness more than anyone.”

“Yes, he knows she’s interested in his-” Eva’s voice morphed into a surprised – ‘oof!’ – as Andreas nudged the drone with his elbow.

“In any case,” Valeria added, producing a phone from her pocket. “I must inform the officers about this change of plan. Go take a look at your mech while I make a call, then we can head down to R&D.”

Andreas saluted her, one she returned. When she was out of earshot, phone pulled up to her ear, Andreas turned to Eva, his distorted reflection visible in her lens.

“You didn’t tell her the truth about the third shard,” he noted.

“Seargent, I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a tattle. If you think my reaction to you shooting at an Argent shard was bad, the Commander’s would have been far worse. She definitely would not have given you a mech to play with if she knew.”

“Thanks, Eva.”

She would have grinned if her drone possessed the will, her tone turning sly as she hovered closer.

“What you said about manipulating Sharrya, was that true?” she asked. “Have you been goading the Baroness into being reckless this entire time, or was that you flirting with her?”

“A little of both,” he answered. “But back at the pipe, she basically handed me her next move on a silver platter. I played her like a… like a string puppet.”

“Thank goodness you didn’t say hand puppet. I already know you want to put your arm up her behind, Seargent, I don’t need a reminder.”

Andreas retracted away from her as though she’d physically struck him. “Damn, Eva!” he said, his laughter echoing down the noisy foundry. “The fuck did that come from?”

“I could hardly call you out in front of your new boss, could I?” she replied. “And it’s the new body, I’m still getting used to having a metaphysical presence.”

“You’re not the only one with a new look. Come on, let’s go check out the mech.”

Eva floated beside him as they made their way across the gallery, Andreas unable to help but gawk at the far larger first-generation suit. He’d give his arm and a leg for the chance to crush some demons with that thing.

“Why do you think I want to do that to Sharrya’s ass anyway?” he asked.

“From the way you look at it.”

“Eva, that’s not… I’m not into that sorta thing, and I doubt Sharrya is too… is she?”

“Bozo. I’m sure you’ll ask her the next time you see her,” she teased.

“Alright, alright. Even outside the suit you’re still a pain.”

“Technically not true. A copy of my algorithm resides within this drone. The rest of me is still in your gear.”

“Fantastic...”

They followed the yellow-striped pedestrian lanes across the gallery, pausing by the ankle of the first generation mech, its size comparable to a flatbed truck. The second generation battlesuit had all the scope of a toy soldier, but that was only because of Andreas’ bias towards its bigger, older brother. Standing at five meters tall at the shoulder, the mech was a diminutive replica of the far bigger suit, though there were a few key differences. Its build was far more sleek, its edges rounded out to give a more smooth appearance. Its thin limbs allowed more manoeuvrability at the cost of its sturdiness, but that didn’t mean the hull was fragile by any means. It was more comparable to a walking tank, and it had the weaponry to compliment the fact.

Like its larger predecessor, the right limb was comprised of a whole weapon, Andreas noting the copper coils ringing its length through gaps in the mechanics. It was longer than he was tall, and from what he knew about railgun weapons, this was not one of them.

“That is a particle cannon,” Eva noted, her drone swerving up to where the cannon joined to the chassis. “capable of delivering a superheated pulse of energy in short, infrequent bursts. See the heatsinks on the side, here? A single shot generates enough heat to melt aluminium.”

Andreas nodded in approval, though he still shot glances at the gen one every couple moments. “I’ve always been partial to energy weapons. What kind of damage can it dish out?”

“Aside from melting anything set in the path of the beam? The shot is followed up by a secondary blast as the beam dissipates. The explosive is equivalent to six of your plastic explosive bricks. That’s slightly bigger than what you did to the gore nest.”

Now Andreas voiced his impressiveness in the form of a whistle, earning the glance of a few nearby engineers wearing high-vis overalls.

“It’s no BFG, but I can make do with that,” Andreas said.

The centrepiece of the mech was the cockpit, the canopy made of three narrow, red-tinted windows. They didn’t provide much of a field of view, but there were no doubt cameras all over the chassis that could be visible from the inside. Above the cockpit, a driving lamp crowned the mech, the high-beams currently switched off. Below it, a pair of chainguns were mounted onto the sternum, Andreas guessing they were fifty calibres. The last of its armaments was on the opposite prosthetic limb, where below a giant metal fist was a serrated knife, the wrist-blade longer than a spear. It seemed the builders had designed gen two’s to fight at range as well as close-quarters.

“This model slightly differs from the base ARC mech,” Eva mused as she floated over its shoulders. The left hardpoint should be a ranged weapon, not a fist with a knife, but it should prove adequate in the event a demon should get too close.”

“It’ll be more than adequate,” Andreas said. “There’s enough firepower here to take out a mancubus … or a Baron.”

-xXx-

Research and Development was the facility situated behind the foundry warehouses, the footprint of its box-shaped structure taking up less room than a church, but the reason for this was because most of its contents were belowground. The surface access was mostly barren, save for a kiosk and an access lift. The lift was industrial-grade, big enough to fit a forklift on the platform with room to spare.

As Valeria led him and Eva into the elevator and thumbed the key labelled 1, he guessed the first level was fifty feet deep, but the facility must run triple that depth judging by the numbers on the panel.

A delicate ding announced their arrival, Andreas following Valeria out into a carpeted room. Filing cabinets and office terminals were propped up against the sterile-white walls, open archways to the left and right leading to adjacent rooms, their signage marking them as Laboratories one through to six.

There was a desk off to one side of the lift, and despite the racket it caused when it pulled up to the level, the woman typing away at her terminal didn’t look up at the newcomers. She wore a white lab coat with a blue tie wrapped over her collar, one hand reaching up to push up her black-rimmed glasses as the other continued to clack away on the keyboard.

“Selena, I have the shards you requested at long last,” Commander Valeria said, reaching into her coat for the glass spheres. “Drop that last project we talked about, getting these shards ready is top priority.”

“Valeria!” the young woman, Selena, said, her eyes a pretty shade of blue, and blazed with startlement. These two must be familiar if they weren’t referring to each other by rank. “The Argent shards, of course! Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t thank me, it was Seargent Andreas here who did the heavy lifting.”

“Oh! Seargent, hello,” Selena greeted, flashing him a meagre smile, one she broke before he even had a chance to return it. She must not get out of these labs very much. She turned back to the Commander. “Lab four is still prepped, like you requested, we can begin running diagnostics immediately.”

“How long will that take?” Valeria asked. “I need the mech reactors powered as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure. An hour, maybe?” she replied. Like Valeria, Selena’s Spanish accent had her rolling her R’s. “Are we expecting an attack?”

“It’s very likely,” was all Valeria was willing to say, and Selena seemed to get the message, shutting off her terminal and proceeding down the passage on the left side of the room. As they passed over the small lip in the threshold, the floor took on an unbroken, ceramic texture, the lab illuminated by light strips running across the ceiling in an unbroken line, a warm breeze brushing his face Andreas followed the two women inside. A quiet, humming sound filled the lab. At first he thought it was air conditioning, but as he looked up at the little grills built into the walls at head height, he realised they were air recyclers, pumping cool, fresh air from the surface.

There were two men gathered around a workstation at the far side of the lab, also wearing white coats, and Selena called them over, holding up the shards and relaying Valeria’s orders. They wasted no time in bringing them over to a strange device propped up in the corner of the room. It looked like a photo-copy machine, except its surface was comprised of a capsule that looked suspiciously like the argent canisters that his dropship had been ferrying before it had crashed. Selena popped the glass spheres into the capsule, and with a button press, glass windows sealed over the container, and the glass balls began to suspend in the air.

Readouts started appearing on the machine’s surrounding monitors, Andreas thinking of heartrate monitors he’d seen in hospitals, the three scientists muttering among themselves as they got to work, Valeria watching them over their shoulders. Andreas wandered over to the other side of the lab. Where another bulkhead separated an adjacent room, Andreas spotting a dash of moving colour through the door window.

The doors didn’t slide open at his approach, a glance at the retinal scanner nearby confirming a level of security was required to pass through, and the reasons were obvious after a few moments. Lining one side of the hallway beyond were a series of containment units, their glass cylinders stretching from floor to ceiling.

There were things inside some of these pods.

Every second or third container along, demons idled behind the glass in various states of agitation. An imp was raking its blunt claws along the glass in furious swipes inside one, a whiplash flicked its cybernetic tail in agitation in another, slithering around its prison in slow loops, its eyes zeroing in on any hint of movement. There were a couple of zombies too, and at the far end of the room, the last pod along housed an ethereal humanoid, Andreas able to see the wall through its transparent body. This was a spirit, and Andreas had only seen their caste in pictures. They were ghosts through and through, able to possess any demon and grant them unnatural resilience. He wondered how they managed to capture one.

“We used to run tests on any wounded demons we could safely recover from the field,” Valeria said, standing beside him as he peered into the containment room. “Autopsies, mostly, a few live fire exercises as well, anything that could give us an edge.”

“We had something like this back at a research base I used to work at,” Andreas explained. “They broke out once and we lost control of the whole facility. Hope that doesn’t happen here.”

“I’m guessing you did not have a suppression field in place,” Valeria said, dipping into an explanation when he shook his head. “It’s an invisible bubble surrounding the Rallypoint. Any demon caught inside it has its powers significantly reduced, and it also prevents portals opening inside its radius. It’s one of Samuel Hayden’s inventions, so don’t bother asking me how it works. As for the pods, they’re reinforced with alloys imported from Mars, which are also owned by Hayden. They’re not breaking out unless the field shuts down.”

“How’s the suppression field powered?” Andreas asked.

“What do you think? It’s Argent shard compatible, and can run uninterrupted for eighty years straight before needing a replacement. I’d show you the generator, but even I need to go through five levels of security just to access it.”

Across from the containment pods, the wall was lined with reinforced doors, Andreas asking the Commander where they led. She explained they were holding cells, where demons could be stored before security transported them to other parts of the base.

“How do you move them around?” Andreas asked.

Valeria led him over to a nearby cabinet, pulling one of its swinging doors open. Inside was a wall mounted rack with a dozen odd devices suspended on the hooks, Valeria lifting one that looked somewhat like a pillory, with two holes for securing one’s wrists.

“We place their containment pods on a trolley, or we use these for the more compliant subjects,” Valeria said, handing him the shackles. They were heavy duty, the bands inches thick and made from solid steel. Magnetic hardpoints ringed around the clamps, the locking mechanism must be electronic.

“I struggle to imagine that,” Eva noted, hovering between their shoulders. “A demon would fight to its death before being cuffed by one of those.”

“You’d be surprised how docile a combination of the suppression field, sedatives, and electric shock therapy can make them,” she replied. “After a few days of capture, most of them just stand there, like their brains have switched off. One time a scientist even touched the shoulder of an imp and it didn’t even flinch.”

Andreas handed the shackles back, Valeria securing them in the cabinet. “Selena’s work will take some time, Seargent. If you wish to return to your quarters, I’ll send for you once the shards are ready.”

“I think I’ll stick around here for now,” Andreas replied. “No point walking off if I’m just going to come back again.”

“I too, wish to stay and study some of your equipment,” Eva said. “If that’s alright with you, Commander?” she added, a little more tactful than Andreas was.

“Bueno,” Valeria said. “Just make sure you put anything you touch back the way it was. Selena and her team are picky like that. If ARC was good on their promise, you’ll be in your mech before you know it Seargent.”

-xXx-

Andreas spent the next day familiarising himself with all the mech’s capabilities, with Eva and a couple of the engineers giving him pointers. His already scuffed sleeping schedule had seen him stay awake during the night but sleeping through the days, leaving him with little to do but wonder the base during lights-out.

There’s been a few mishaps during his mech induction course, and he had even toppled the battlesuit over, forcing one of the workers to fetch a crane, and a part of him wasn’t sure if one day of training would be enough. They hadn’t even let him use the particle cannon to see its true capabilities, but Eva insisted that he wouldn’t be disappointed when the time came to use it, and he trusted her judgement.

His wonderings took him up one of the walls, the westward wind hitting his face as he emerged from the service lift. The floor panel inside it had about thirty buttons, tiers of facilities built into the outer wall like books on a shelf. Andreas wouldn’t even place a restroom so close to where bombardment was likely to strike, but he guessed space was a commodity in the Rallypoint.

There was a guard stationed just outside the lift, a service pistol and rifle strapped to his combat armour. He offered Andreas a familiar nod, kind one reserved for regulars, although Andreas had never been up on the walls yet. He didn’t fancy himself a celebrity, but everyone seemed to know who he was all the same.

Looking left, the length of the rampart stretched on and on, until it terminated at a corner a couple hundred meters out. Running along the boardwalk at regular intervals were the buttresses he had seen on his way in from the ground, each one a bunker in its own right. He could see turrets mounted on hardpoints bristling all along their three outer faces, with their roofs occupied by radio antennae and other sensory equipment. Along the inner face of the boardwalk was a waist-high wall, there to provide a safety net from the sheer drop into the courtyard.

On the right, the view was the same, except the walk along the wall only stretched a few dozen meters before it met the corner, the vector change occupied by a plateau, with one of those great guns sitting upon it. Soldiers milled about along the outer wall, some dipping into the bunkers, others peering out into the city through scopes or binoculars.

Andreas made his way down the right side, the metal thrumming with each touch of his boots. It was just after four in the morning, the sun grazing the sky, the skies turning a mysterious shade of pink with its welcome. The skies were still congealed with clouds of endless soot, making the heavens seem much closer than they really were. If the wall were twice as high, Andreas might have been able to pass through the wisps of cloud. No wonder all these people felt cut off from the rest of the planet, his senses were convinced he was stuck inside of a box of smoke.

The plateau which supported the heavy anti-air gun was ringed with a warning radius, there to stop people from being clocked by its lamppost-sized barrels. Like the mechs, the gun emplacement was gigantic, as big as a house.

There was no visible place for the controls that he could see, the controls were likely right beneath it, or in some of the more secured facilities dotting the courtyard. Perhaps it was fully automated by an AI like Eva.

There were no safety barriers on the plateau’s outer edges, perhaps that was intentional, so the gun could have as wide a firing arc as possible. Andreas got as close to the edge as he dared, a lump forming in his throat. He thought that jump from the rooftop might have gotten his fear of heights in order, but it seemed he had a few more leaps of faith before that happened.

From this height, he could see the full destruction of the city in all its infested glory. Craters and urban ruins formed endless bands of rings in all directions, forming a skyline that to Andreas, appeared like the metal jaws of a cyberdemon. While the direction Andreas had travelled in on foot from was a mix of intact and blasted ruins with more of the former than the latter, the same could not be said for the other cardinal directions. Building blocks to the east looked like they’d been subjected to nuclear blasts, craters hundreds of feet wide pockmarking the concrete grids. A mountain chain scabbed over a section of the metal maze to the northeast, casting great pools of shadow over that portion of the city. Towers and skyscrapers had once dominated the wealthier districts, but now only their foundations remained, their long bodies draped over the streets like shattered corpses.

Draped over most of this doomed vista was a shade of unsettling pink, its colour like that of gums with the skin peeled off. It wasn’t as apparent closer to the Rallypoint, but it dominated a couple miles out towards the skyline, forming a sea of flesh mingling with the broken metal. If Andreas unfocused his eyes, he could see movement out there, little microshifts that weren’t demons or humans, but the flesh itself, squirming in tidal ripples. It was like watching grubs wriggle in poisoned grass, the sight making his skin crawl.

He turned his eyes downward, peering over the drop towards the encampments sieging the walls. Commander Valeria had informed him that they had seen very little activity in the camps aside from the occasional departing demon, leaving only skeleton crews hugging the walls. Even the winged demons had stopped their attempts at coming down on the Rallypoint from directly above, which she had told him were very regular occurrences.

She’s preparing, Andreas thought. No two ways about it.

He remembered the Baroness mentioned something about her cathedral, Andreas wondering what kinds of surprises she’d pull out for her coming attack, and if she had anything that could compare to the battlesuit’s Valeria had kept under the rug this whole time. He had a feeling the forty-meter-tall mech would catch the Baroness off-guard.

Perhaps she’d be stunned just long enough for the mech pilots to finish her off for good. She was as tough as bricks, but even she would be vapourised if she got caught in the path of a railgun or particle cannon.

He frowned at the image, the thought of Sharrya reduced to a pile of ash troubling him. Sharrya was his enemy, just like Eva always tried to remind him – she was responsible for this hellscape that had overcome Spain, and yet he didn’t harbour as much hatred for her as he should have. If he had grown up here, he’d share the same hatred, but he didn’t share the same prejudices as Valeria or her men did.

He'd only known Sharrya for a few days, and while she was on the opposite side of this war, she was more a rival than his sworn enemy. A mindless demon would have cut him down the moment the chance arose, yet her obsession with him was born from intrigue, not malice, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t reciprocate said interest.

He closed his eyes, conjuring up the image of her feminine silhouette, how her pronounced curves drew her muscular form into a streamlined hourglass shape despite her brawn. Andreas had to admit it was a little flattering to be hit on by someone at the very peak of personal physique, even if she had the lower half of a goat, although her fur looked very soft…

Andreas shook his head, dispelling such thoughts. As Eva had said, he had to stop thinking with his ‘thingy’, and look at the bigger picture. Sharrya had made his journey more interesting than not, but she had her side, and he had this, there was nothing to be done about that. Still, it would be a shame to watch her die, and this war wouldn’t end until either she did or these walls fell. There was no other option… was there?

He had to wait until the operation was in full swing, the coming fight could go either way. Sharrya didn’t know about the mechs, of that he was ninety percent positive, but likewise, they didn’t know what Hell had provided Sharrya with.

All he could do was meet her on the field, protect as many people as he could. Sharrya might offer him lenience, but that lenience did not extend to the Spanish people. Mutual intrigue or not, he would do everything in his power to see the civilians through this mess.

-xXx-

It had taken her legions sooner than she expected to answer her new orders, and while she’d always loathed the lesser demons for their lack of backbones, this time she was glad for their swift obedience.

The possessed had opened up gateways around the gore nests, using them as focal points to transport her demons to the staging point. There had been delays getting the demons in the destroyed nest’s quadrant into action, but that was to be expected, and the few remaining forces that Andreas hadn’t suffered were hardly worth the effort anyway.

She had watched from the rooftops as her legions amassed, filling the concrete streets with their red bodies. The occasional brawl cropped up here and there from the fodder, but that was to be expected from such a brittle, yet numerous force.

By the time the portals had dispensed the last of her ranks, she was gazing upon an army, their battle-hungry faces surveying her just as she surveyed them. It was a far cry from the cosmic battleforces she’d been granted during her first conquest of the continent, before the Dark Lord had decided to whisk portion after portion of her resources for more ‘important’ campaigns, but that did not detract from its substantiality.

Just shy of ten thousand demons had free run of Spain, and with little else to do but to fight amongst themselves, they had leapt at the chance for action. Imps made up the vanguard, while a mix of mancubus’, cacodemons, knights and revenants made up the backbone.

The former would soak up as much gunfire as possible while the latter spearheaded the siege. Hell had used such a stratagem across many worlds, and had proven equal parts effective and reliable, Sharrya had a backup plan all the same.

She was not alone up on those rooftops. Flanking her were two of the biggest demonic castes ever spawned from Hell, towering over even Sharrya. Their humanoid bodyplans were pungent to look at. One leg was entirely synthetic, while the other was a glistening tan colour, the wrinkled flesh sleaving over three ivory toes. The mechanics from the leg spread up into the crotch area, where circuit boards and thick wiring veined into the torso, hooked up to sockets and pumps that had replaced most of the organs. Their ribcages were five layers deep, visible through rips in it’s sinewy flesh.

Like its legs, one of its pink arms was whole, tipped with four clawed fingers, while the other had been replaced with a missile launcher with four rotating barrels. Any fraction of movement from them, even just a flex of its claws, was followed by a whir of motors. If Sharrya were to tear a gash through its fleshy parts, she doubted she’d see very much that hadn’t been replaced with metallic counterparts.

Not that she would entertain such thoughts lightly. Cyberdemons were cruel, sadistic, and blessed by the Hell-gods themselves. It was only through the Dark Lord’s orders that they served Sharrya as her bodyguard. Without such prestigious orders, they would have strung her corpse on the cathedral’s walls and usurped her operation long ago.

“Neither of you are to engage until the imps have done their duty,” Sharrya said to them, the cyberdemon’s long, upswept horns slicing the air as they turned their flat faces down on her. The shape of their features reminded her of bats. “Once the gate opens, or the field collapses, whichever is first, only then you may commence the slaughter.”

The one on the left nodded his horned head, while the other grunted. The two monsters followed her silently as she stepped between them, moving for the far side of the rooftop. A winged imp was perched like a gargoyle nearby, his arrowhead tail swishing back and forth at her approach.

“Give the order to your kin,” Sharrya said. “On this day, we march for glorious battle.”

The creature nodded, its leathery wings flapping hard as he took off like a missile, streaking over the heads of the army and toward the rearguard. Sharrya took up the demon’s place, pausing to admire the view for a little longer before stepping into the open air.

Her cybernetic armour was layered with shock absorbers, but she would have survived the four-storey-tall drop without it. Electric whines cut through the air as her heavy frame crashed to the street, spiderweb cracks blooming from her hooves.

Panicked squawks rose from the surrounding crowd of imps and revenants that had gathered at the foot of her procession, scrambling to get clear as the cyberdemons fell down to either side of her, their prosthetic legs falling to kneeling positions as they absorbed the fall’s impact. The crashes they made as they hit the ground were like two miniature earthquakes.

Sharrya moved through the crowd without delay, the demons parting around her. Before her lay the streets of the city, some of the blocks obliterated under artillery and weapons fire, a vague sense of recognition passing her mind as she examined the walled streets. She must have walked this place at some earlier point in her conquest, though the details escaped her in favour off the present.

Her chest surged with passion as her demons joined her march, the sounds of their cries for bloodshed muffled through her helmet. This was what she was born to do. Her at the spearhead, her elite guard behind her, and her legions behind them, their desire for conquest enunciated by every step. Leading a standing force was a euphoria like no other, it was the one thing that gave her purpose, and it had been denied to her for so long that she had become lazy, content, weak.

No longer.

Now she had structure, she had a goal, and with those she would not be stopped. She would break down the Rallypoint’s walls, secure her human, and prove to the Dark Lord she didn’t need all those resources he had taken from her. It was all so very simple.

Though she imagined Andreas would find some way to complicate things. That was all well and good – the challenge would erase all her congealing faults – and she welcomed, no, insisted that he try and stop her. It was more fun that way.

For the next half hour, the stomp of hooves and feet cut through the pervasive silence of the decaying city, her legion trailing along in her wake. She kept her eyes forward the whole way, though in her mind she could see the way they flowed through the ruins after her. They crept through every road and sidewalk, climbing the broken windows and moving over every crater with a disciplined ease. Her army was like a giant cloud of gas, flowing through the destruction unhindered as it zeroed in on her target.

The tips of the Rallypoint’s walls rose into view before long, the sun setting on the horizon directly behind it, the domed rooftops inside the complex glinting in the light. The great guns on the corners were set in their resting positions, meaning no forewarning had reached the defenders about her oncoming force.

A stew of intermingling feelings settled in her stomach as the lower ends of the walls became visible, and she beheld the fortress in its entirety. It felt like an age had passed since she’d last laid eyes on the Rallypoint, and its image brought forward all those sequestered memories she’d rather kept locked away.

She remembered a section of the eastern wall had sunken away, splitting the whole section in twain as the giant slice of metal had fallen into a recess. Thick lines of humans dressed in everyday clothes were rushing through the gap in the wall, columns of tanks with their treads lined with sandbags forming two protective lines to either side. They filled the air with fire and tungsten as her legions gave pursuit, tides of demons slamming into the first layers of the point-defence. Her minions were endless, but their bullets were not, and the lack of ammo and her personal oversight of the offence ensured steady progress towards the gate.

She remembered one of the humans screaming strings of numbers into his radio, and it was only a little later on she realised those had been coordinates. The fools had called down artillery right on their positions, but she supposed that wasn’t really a foolish decision. They were overrun, and were dead the moment the gate had begun to close.

The terrible racket as the sixty-meter-tall gate closed had been terrible, rising up at just a slow enough pace that if she pushed her forces enough, they might be able to climb over before it closed too much. The tanks and the soldiers had delayed them too much, however, and by the time her legion had cut down the last vehicle, the gate had risen over thirty meters. She remembered about eight imps had made the climb anyway, but only four of them had managed to reach the top lip, their clawed toes the last thing she saw of them before scrabbling over the gate. They had likely been shot a few moments later on the way back down the other side, but she had to respect the dedication.

That had been the only time she’d seen the interior, and when she tried to remember what lay inside, all that came to was an explosion of green.

She had given the order to fall back, both because trying to scale those walls was suicide, and because the oncoming bombardment was battering the masses. There had been a rise in the Earth about half a mile off from the fortress, and she had used the vantage to analyse the grounds for the follow-up attacks she was already planning that day.

She stood on that vantage now, one hoof slightly raised above the other as she perched on the slope, eyes scanning the section of wall she knew to be a gate. It was camouflaged into the wall very well, but to her trained eyes she could just about spot the grooves running down the barrier from top to bottom. She had made the mistake of splitting up her forces to hit the three sides of the Rallypoint accessible by land, but now the true place to strike was more obvious than ever.

“Legions of Hell!” she roared, her voice booming across the immediate area, her voice carrying in the still air. “For too long have these humans cowered right under our noses, mocking us with their very existence. That ends today! They are marked for Sin, and you shall be the ones to do the branding. Go! Cauterize this scab once and for all! Go!”

The legions had taken off before her speech had even ended, the frenzied imps and groaning possessed sprinting and leaping into the no-mans-land dividing the ruins from the Rallypoint. The heavier castes hurried to keep up with them, tiding across the barren ground in a mad dash.

Craters tens of meters in diameter pockmarked the terrain, but her legions flowed between the obstructs without delay, fuelled on by their hatred for the hiding mortals. Sharrya wished to join them, to rip through those walls with her own two hands, but she tempered her excitement. She could not afford to be impulsive.

The imps crossed the first hundred meters unmolested, thousands of them breaking cover from the ruins and pouring into the open. She thought she could see figures up on the walls, perhaps those were lookouts trying to raise the alarm.

On the second hundred meters, even more movement lined the fortress, followed by a distinct clanking of metal that carried over the distance. Sharrya watched as the heavy gun emplacement on the left corner began to shift, its motors cranking as it rotated on its housing. The quad-cannons turned from the skies to the ground, adjusting its sights across the charging imps. The gun on the right corner mirrored its movements.

There was no delay, the great guns opened up on the encroaching horde, each barrel erupting in fire and filling the air with thunder. The canons fired in slow succession, first the two on the left, then the two on the right, the muzzles rocking back to adjust for the heavy recoil.

At this range, there was no travel time. Each payload threw up great clumps of dirt and ash, obliterating tens of demons with each shot and sending dozens more scattering. Body parts mingled with the tossed Earth, showering down on the imps who attempted to make their charge more erratic in the hopes of becoming less easy targets.

The fort guns walked their sights across the charge, explosions of detritus travelling down the imps as though unseen landmines were cooking off. Not even the full scope of possessed had stepped foot into the killing field, but Sharrya didn’t need the height to realise the spearhead was taking heavy casualties.

Heavy, but not unexpected, though that correction did little to quell the troubled pang in her heart.

The guns turned back the other way, shaving off the demonic ranks ten layers at a time. No imp or possessed change course, as going back or seeking cover would only prolong their time in the no-mans-land. The guns had a wide firing arc, but their size meant they couldn’t get a line of sight directly at the wall’s base, but it was almost two full minutes of evisceration before an imp made it through.

He was only a red speck at this distance, but he stood out against the fort, and he began to hurry up the vertical face, claws and toes digging into the metal for purchase. When he was halfway up the wall, gunfire erupted from between the buttresses, a stream of bullets sending the imp careening into freefall.

More imps were breaking through to the wall, their numbers reduced to the dozens, but they followed in the imp’s example regardless, scurrying up the metal like questing ants. The corner guns disembowelled the charge all the while, the tips of their barrels glowing with heat.

The cyberdemon on her left growled, a sound that made even her uneasy, and she had travelled far more nightmarish places than Hell. He made to step forward, but Sharrya held up a hand.

“Not even you could withstand those heavy guns,” she warned. “Victory relies on your discretion, so get a hold of yourself. Your time will come soon.”

The cyberdemon bristled, staring into her soul with those beady eyes, but it seemed to decide a fight wasn’t worth it. She had to be firm with these monsters, it was the only way to keep them in check. She could relate to its growing impatience, however. It was not easy watching her legion get torn to shreds while she stood safely at the far rear.

Her troubles were quickly put aside, however, when the flap of dozens of wings reached her ears. She turned to look behind her, her spirits soaring as winged imps swarmed the skies, their calloused bodies weaving between the skyscrapers. They banked over her army like locusts, rising into the air on their spread, veiny wings. Their number was countless, the fliers resembling a blob if one unfocused their eyes.

The swarm careened across the battlefield, their flight path curving high above the Rallypoint. Such a tightly packed aerial body would have been chewed up by flak rounds, but the Rallypoint’s guns were focused on the ground forces.

The gun on the right attempted to correct this critical mistake, but the winged demons were already halfway across the battlefield, angling their bodies head-first as they swooped into a collective dive. They rained down atop the walls, slicing human figures apart through sheer momentum.

The winged legion fell upon and between the buttresses, taking the posted humans by surprise. Sharrya could see humans being tossed from the battlements, others being gripped by the shoulders and hoisted into the sky by pairs of imps, bringing them to soaring heights and then dropping them to grisly fates. The attention of the scampering imps was relieved as the fliers sowed chaos, but the true clause of the attack was more than a simple distraction.

She was too far away to make out details, but the corner gun that had turned to face the fliers fired off three more salvos, and then abruptly stopped. She could see flapping wings all around the weapon, her demons flocking to the emplacement like moths. She could imagine them ripping into its mechanical guts, slicing the components with their claws, sending fireballs into its exposed logic circuits, perhaps tearing apart the compartment of its gunner crew. Whether it was any of these things or none, it mattered not, the massive gun had ceased firing. Its counterpart continued to walk its devastating barrages across the ground, but the loss of the gun was a significant stepping stone.

The winged legion had roosted upon the battlements in full, choking the fortress’ immediate air with their lithe bodies. The mortals on the walls turned their weapons to the skies, filling the air with bullets, clipping tens of demons in each volley, but such casualties were acceptable with such sheer numbers.

“You should have given yourself up, Andreas,” she muttered. “Now look at what your pride has wrought upon your friends. If it were only so… what’s that noise?” she demanded, darting her gaze from side to side.

There had been a tremendous thunk a moment ago, as though a thunderhead had set off nearby, yet the only storms overhead were those of the demonic quality. The sound carried on into a series of small clicks echoing across the battlefield, as though great cogs were grinding together.

When her gaze fell upon the Rallypoint, her question was answered. A portion of the wall was lower than the rest, sliding away into a gap in the ground, the imps caught on the moving piece flinging themselves clear. It was the gate, blooming open with a dramatic slowness, the realisation making her tilt her head thoughtfully.

That was ahead of schedule, and not at all part of the plan. The winged imps were to target the guns, then the field generator. Opening the gate was unnecessary and dangerous, but not unwelcome. Perhaps she should give the imps more credit.

The demons that had made it through the anti-air gun’s blanket fire gathered eagerly around the foot of the gate, forgoing their climbing attempts now that they could simply walk through in a few moments. A second echoing bang chased the first as the gate lowered a quarter of the way, the weight of the construct palpable in its gentle descent.

Sharrya’s confidence tapered into uncertainty, when she looked over the gate’s threshold and saw something standing behind it. First appeared a metal head as big as a house, attached to a robotic chest piece, its surface bristled with guns and missile hardpoints. It had a giant gun for one arm, and a fist that could clobber a cyberdemon for the other. Its towering bulk was considerable at this distance, but to the demons by the gate, it must have looked gigantic.

The giant robot didn’t wait for the gate to fully open, lunging one of its giant metal legs over the withdrawing obstruction when there was room. A cluster of gathered possessed stood in stupid wonder as the foot came down and crushed a dozen of them beneath its heel, Sharrya feeling the impact even from her vantage.

Seeing their brethren squashed spurred the rest of the legion into action, mancubus’ opening up with their arm cannons, hell knights galloping forward to close distance. The battlesuit bent at the waist, gears clicking as it presented its chest to the horde, the automatic guns on its stomach opening up on everything that moved. Missiles scribbled through the air as the pods on its neck and chest activated, the payloads screaming through the air. Dozens of explosions shook the Earth as the ranks were carpeted with ordinance. The mancubus’ high-powered energy guns didn’t so much as scratch its pain, and the hell knights were kicked away like pests before the machine.

“What are you two waiting for?!” Sharrya exclaimed at her bodyguards, who watched the destruction with fascination. “An invitation? Get your metal asses down there and destroy that thing, you useless imbeciles!”

The cyberdemons grunted, sliding down the slope on their steel legs, taking off into the fray at a run. Sharrya turned her attention back to the battlesuit, wondering how such a giant thing could have slipped her notice. Had it been delivered to them, or built on-site? This must be mankind’s answer to the titan’s of Hell, and by the way it chewed through her legion, it had the firepower to back it up. If only she had access to her own titan, none of this would be necessary, couldn’t the Dark Lord see that?

She put such thoughts aside, complaining now of all times would do less than nothing. The battlesuit was pushing her legion away from the wall, back into range of the anti-aircraft gun, which was still operational, even as her winged imps continued to swarm the emplacement.

She had to resist the urge to wring her hands as the towering cyberdemons closed in on the robot – if it even was a robot, and not manned by a small crew of some sort. The cyberdemons pushed aside the throngs of imps and knights, stepping through a firing line that a squad of mancubus’ had set up. The battlesuit turned to face this new threat, ignoring every other demon even as its hull was battered and clawed by a hundred smaller targets.

The cyberdemon’s brought their robotic arm launchers to bear, the battlesuit presenting its giant arm cannon in kind. Aside from the glowing, electric rings running down the exposed parts of the barrel, there was no telegraphed attack, and little to no windup. The battlesuit levelled its cannon at one of the cyberdemons, and there was a flash of light so bright that Sharrya had to shield her eyes from the oncoming blindness.

A terrible, electric crack carried through the sky, so loud she would have heard it if she had been sitting in her cathedral at the time. When the flash cleared, Sharrya peered between her fingers, blinking her eyes back into vision as she observed the fortress grounds.

One of her cyberdemons was ravaged from the chest up, arms and head reduced to a pile of mush far behind it. Its counterpart watched in a rare expression of trepidation as the bodiless legs fell like two decapitated trees.

Her heart sank. One of her most cherished warriors, obliterated before it could even fire off a single rocket.

The battlesuit moved its arm cannon aside, wisps of smoke rising from the barrel. It was obvious that it couldn’t fire the devastating weapon in quick succession, but she dreaded the time it took to fire again. It could be five minutes, or one minute for all she knew.

At least the other cyberdemon wasn’t privy to being troubled by the display of power, the demon using its robotic leg to leap into a sprint. It charged towards the suit’s leg, the machine swiping down at the demon with its regular arm, but the intended swat missed, the cyberdemon shoving its synthetic arm into the suit’s leg.

It pulled a chunk of mechanics from the hull, sparks flying from the mechanical wound. The suit tried to stomp on it like a bug, but the demon easily moved aside in time, the movement telegraphed. The cyberdemon prepared its launcher, firing off a cluster of rockets that crashed into the battlesuit’s left thigh, explosions rippling along the limb.

Despite the battlesuit’s attention now focused on the robotic demon, the weapons on its chest and shoulders continued to fire independently, its guns and missile pods cutting down swathes of the demons trying to support their heavier counterpart. None of them survived long enough to help. What was worse, the opened gate had revealed a barricaded entryway lined with sandbags and machine-gun nests, dozens of barrels poking through little murder holes lining the fortifications.

Plasma and bullets alike fired off from this new avenue of attack, felling any demon trying to circumvent the battling titan’s and get inside the fortress. No portals were opening up either, which meant her winged legion was also facing setbacks.

“Maykyr’s curse it all,” Sharrya muttered, adjusting her shoulder pad as she jumped from her vantage point. “Must I do everything myself?”

The ground level rose up to meet her, Sharrya outstretching her armoured legs as she slid down the incline. She was moving into range of the anti-air gun, but her cybernetic armour should prove invaluable should it decide to make her its next target.

She ran around the craters, stretches of cadavers lining the paths, some of them two or three bodies deep. Yet more were joining the charge, both behind and in front of her, the sight of their leader reinvigorating the troops, not that morale was ever a matter of doubt. Such charges like these were common for her kind.

She stepped nimbly through the legions, the battlesuit drawing closer. The autocannons on its front were harrying the cyberdemon with endless streams of rounds, yet they did little to the demon’s reinforced exoskeleton. She was almost there, just a few moments more…

In the next instant, she was flying off to the left, arcing clear over a crater ten meters across. Ash and dirt splashed against her visor as she landed in a heap, the pain in her side swimming up into her skull. She shook her head, and looked up to see she had been flung straight towards the Rallypoint wall, coming short by a few meters.

On her hands and knees, she turned towards where she had been running at full tilt, blinking when a second battlesuit was striding down the crater after her. It was far smaller than the one fighting the cyberdemon, taller than Sharrya but not by very much. Its chest was riddled with guns like its bigger cousin, and the right arm transformed into a weapon at the elbow.

Gears and engines rumbled as the suit stomped over the crater lip, holding its arms at the ready as Sharrya pulled herself to her feet.

It planted its clawed feet in the ash not ten meters away, her eyes drawn to the glass canopy situated on its upper torso. A crackled of static produced from some unseen radio transmitter, and although the voice that followed was synthetic, garbled with a tinny quality, Sharrya recognised the accent anywhere.

“Baroness Sharrya,” Andreas greeted.

-xXx-

He had expected the gates to be flooded with the demonic once it was opened, but the gen one was giving Hell a run for its money. One of its weapons was always in use, be that the missile pods, or the chainguns, or the shoulder turrets, it was always dealing with a threat at any given time, and that disappointment he’d felt when Valeria told him he wouldn’t be using it swelled up inside him again.

The feeling was quickly nulled when Eva gave the order he was clear to advance. He cleared the sandbags stacked against the gate’s inner side, bullets streaking all around him as the soldiers behind him put down cover fire.

“Remember what I told you,” Eva warned into his helmet. She still had her drone, though it was safely floating somewhere back inside the base. “Mind your foot spacing, and don’t forget your right hand is not a hand.”

“I got it,” Andreas replied, and then promptly forgot as he backhanded an oncoming revenant with the particle cannon. Being inside the mech was like stepping into an exoskeleton. He still had to move his hands and feet to manoeuvre the suit, but the motors supporting the hand and foot grips made such efforts use up barely any strength. The contrast between such easy movements and the heaviness of the mech made it almost feel like he was floating.

He was on support duty for the gen one, their crew’s channel linked up to his mech’s speakers. He could hear about six voices calling out targets and adjusting parameters, their voices cool despite the onslaught their battlesuit was taking part of. They didn’t look like they needed support to Andreas, although the cyberdemon was becoming a pain in their prosthetic rear as it continued to eat up all the bullets they sent their way.

Andreas prepared his particle cannon, but as he took aim, a far greater target presented itself. There was a flash of reflective blue on the far side of the skirmish, and Andreas spotted an armoured Baron sprinting into the fray. Sharrya was wearing some sort of combat suit he’d never seen before, its blue plating glinting in the afternoon sun. It covered her from ankles to neck, even her horns were protected by a conforming helmet with a glowing eyepiece serving as the visor. She must have taken his challenge more literally than he thought if she was busting out her best toys.

He retracted his cannon, stepping round the larger mech and making a beeline for her, timing his interception like a quarterback making for the ball. He thought she might notice him, but her gaze was fixed squarely on the duelling mech, and he crashed into her like a freight train.

The internal lining of the cockpit was made from resilient stuff, but the mech still rang like a gong around him, the noise drilling into his eardrums. Sharrya launched off the ground and sailed across a nearby crater, crashing into the dirt on the other side.

The gruelling sounds of gunfire, both demonic and mortal, morphed into the backdrop as Andreas moved his mech around the obstruct, pausing with a dozen odd meters spacing him from the Baroness. There was a control panel next to the grip on his right arm, and he flicked the one that activated the mech’s communicator.

“Baroness Sharrya,” he announced, Sharrya glancing up from where she lay. He expected her gaze to be full of malice, but of course there was a shit-eating grin below her visor, her eyes no doubt reflect her humour.

“Seargent Andreas,” Sharrya replied, but her tone wasn’t aloof. In fact, it was the exact opposite. “You said you would ‘shit on my parade’ as you so eloquently put it, and you have not disappointed me. Nice suit, by the way.”

“Was about to say the same thing to you,” Andreas said, gesturing with the cannon arm.

“You like it? I wore it just for you,” she cooed, propping herself on her plated arms and presenting her breast to him. She looked like a yoga teacher holding a pose. The armour was slim and conformed to her curvaceous form, and he knew from the way she’d been running that its weight wasn’t a hindrance on her, whatever alloy it was constructed of must be very light. “I only wear it when confronting my most challenging of opponents, and I consider you to be among their number.”

“You look good in blue. It’d bring out your eyes if you ditched the helmet.”

“Oh, Seargent, always with the flattery. Perhaps challenging was the wrong word just now…”

She raised herself up, nursing the shoulder she had landed on. Her eyes flicked over his mechanical shoulder, and Andreas was about to dog her about using such lowly methods of distraction, when his proximity sensors warned of three demons moving up behind him, breaking off from the main battle.

“Leave him!” Sharrya roared, Andreas twisting his mech to see three startled imps giving her strange looks. She tossed a fireball at them when they didn’t move. “Away with you, he’s mine.”

The demons scampered, Andreas chuckling under his breath. “Sure you don’t want their help, Baroness? I’m not one for boasting, but Pilot Andreas hits a lot harder than Regular Andreas.”

“They are needed elsewhere,” Sharrya replied, her meaning obvious. He could hear the gen one mech stomping around the Rallypoint gates, endless streams of ordinance firing from its torso.

“I’ll say. I bet you and your whole legion soiled yourselves when that big fucker came walking out of the gate.”

“Your robot toys won’t save you, even with the aid of surprise,” she replied. Her tone was offhand, but there had been the briefest hint of hesitation in her voice. “But none of that matters now. The last we spoke, you said you were not going to run any longer. I hope you aren’t planning on forfeiting now, of all times?”

“Why do you think I came charging over like a bull?” Andreas spread his mechanical legs wide, just like Eva and the foundry engineers had trained him. “You wanted a showdown, now you’ve got one.”

“Yes…” Sharrya growled, adjusting her footing as she dropped into her own combat stance. “Just your augmented strength, versus my augmented strength. No more running, no more distractions.”

They both stood defiant against each other, a moment passing where nothing else seemed to exist but themselves. Sharrya reached behind her and produced a spiked mace, the handle longer than his entire torso. She beckoned to him with it, and in that moment, her shiny armour caught in the last embers of the sun and bathed in fury, Sharrya looked as beautiful as she was deadly.

“Come then, Seargent, this rivalry has gone on long enough. Let us put an end to things.”

Andreas seized the moment, bringing his particle cannon to bear. The barrel became wreathed in blue light as the energies were brought to life, his finger pressuring the trigger. He was warned there would be a slight delay in the cannon, but not slight enough for the Baroness.

Her arm flung out, the one holding the mace. Andreas blinked when the spiked ball dislocated from the handle, arcing across the space between them like the deadliest basketball. It crashed into the joint at his mechanical elbow, close to the base of the cannon, the mech twisted away by the forceful blow. The arm went wide, Andreas’ blood freezing as the barrel swerved onto the Rallypoint wall on his immediate right. He let the trigger go, the barrel losing its strange glow. That had been too damned close.

A blur of movement occupied one half of his canopy, Sharrya closing in on him rapidly on her long legs. Rattling chains chased her every stride, and he noted that the mace was still connected to the handle by a link. Sharrya’s form bloomed until she was right on top of him, throwing all her weight into her shoulder as the two collided.

The mech left trails meters long as it skidded through the ash, the hydraulics wheezing in complaint against Sharrya’s weight. He could feel his world spin as his centre mass was thrown off kilter, Andreas teetering like a bowling pin. With his left arm, he gripped Sharrya’s bulky shoulder with his metallic fingers, using her for both balance and leverage to drive his leg into her stomach.

Her grinning face filling his vision turned into an expression of pain, steel meeting steel in an echoing crash. He made to backhand her with the cannon, but she planted a hoof into his chest and dodged away.

She thumbed a mechanism on the handle, and the mace-turned-flail began to retract, the chain links slithering along the ground, the mace leaving a long furrow. With a snarl, Sharrya twirled on the spot, handle held out in front of her like she was a hammer throw athlete. The flail whistled through the air, too fast to keep track of until its bulk slammed into Andreas’ shoulder.

Even though he was protected by inches of steel, the metal crumpled inward in a visible dint, a critical warning system blaring an alarm through the cockpit.

He let out a trying grunt as he seized the chain links in his fist, pulling it in the hopes of throwing her off-balance, but Sharrya was charging towards him. He dodged out of her path, letting the chain fall from his grip, pushing out a leg into her knee. His leg collided with a satisfying crunch, Sharrya stumbling into the wall hard enough to leave a dent.

Before she could recover, Andreas darted in behind her, grabbing her by one of her branching horns. The motors in his arms groaning, he drove her helmeted head into the wall of steel, the impact of the blow travelling up his arm.

Her head lolled as he pulled his limb back, then rammed it into the wall a second time, a crack spitting down the middle of her helmet.

On the third swing, Sharrya came to, her elbow swinging into the cockpit glass. A grainy crunch was quickly followed by a pair of tendrils blooming from a point on his lower right vision, not thick enough to blind him, but enough to obscure parts of it.

“Not bad,” Sharrya growled, leading with her flail as she whirled on him. He blocked the attack with his forearm, the impact knocking him back. “Your technology is formidable, even if it is not true strength…”

She grabbed up the chain, swinging the flail in lazy loops as she sized him up, searching for an opening. Andreas activated his weapon systems, the sound of priming guns reaching his ears as the guns on his torso powered on. Muzzle flashes left yellow afterimages as he opened up on Sharrya, the Baroness covering her face on reflex. Like bullets ricocheting in a spaghetti Western, the rounds pinged off her cybernetic armour noisily, even the fifty calibre bullets rendered useless against her protective layer, but he knew firsthand that she couldn’t be brought down by conventional means.

The burst of gunfire gave him enough time to dart forward, clocking Sharrya across the chin before she could block. He followed up with a brutal jab to her gut, the raw power of the mech the only thing allowing him to knock the wind from her lungs, the Baroness expelling her breath in a wheeze.

Andreas delivered another swipe to her helmet, but Sharrya recovered, grabbing him by his metal wrist. She dropped her flail, reaching down with her other hand to grab his shoulder. It looked like she was about to break his arm, but even she wasn’t strong enough to do that, was she?

He tried to break her grip, batting her with the oversized particle cannon, but she shrugged off the swipe, Andreas’s eyes going wide as a sense of weightlessness settled over him. His suit had to weigh upwards of sixty tons, but he could have sworn he felt his feet leave the ground as Sharrya hoisted him to the side, tossing him away like a sack of bricks.

His bulk worked against him, and Andreas was staring at the sky once his mech settled, the first few night stars fading into the blue canvas. His chin touched his neck as he glanced own the length of the cockpit, seeing Sharrya stoop to retrieve her flail.

She thumbed the mechanism again, and the chain grew in length, Sharrya holding it in both hands over her head. She brought the flail down on where he was lying, leaving Andreas only a moment to roll onto his shoulder and let his side take the brunt of the attack.

As his mech shook, another warning appeared on the canopy, this one telling him there were malfunctions in the joint circuits in the arm. If he took any more hits like that, or she’d disable him.

She threw the flail into the air, the chains curling like a whip into the sky. It hung motionless at its peak, and then Sharrya gave the chain a tug and it fell right down again. This time it smashed into one of the machine-guns on his chest, the barrel exploding in a shroud of plastic.

Andreas snagged the flail that had come to rest on the canopy glass – another glass crack forming beneath its bulk – and yanked it hard. Sharrya snarled as she came stumbling into range of his leg, his metal joint connecting with her face in a loud smack. She threw her hands to her mouth, and when her fingers came back, the tusk growing from the left corner of her lips like an ivory stalagmite was broken.

Andreas twisted the mech’s legs one way, his torso remaining as level as a gyroscope. He used his knees to raise the mech from the ash, keeping the arms out straight, just as he’d been taught to do should he lose his balance.

Andreas primed his remaining chaingun, but he didn’t fire on the Baroness. He lenaed forward, squaring the sights over the flail, severing the middle of the chain with a thunder of gunfire. She gave the handle a questioning look, then discarded it.

“Give it up, Sharrya,” Andreas breathed, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just run a marathon.

“Now why would I do that?” she snarled, spitting a wad of blood between her feet. “Your bastion is overwhelmed, and my legions are unstoppable.”

“You sure about that?” he asked, kicking the flail away. “Turn around.”

She narrowed her eyes, then glanced over her shoulder, suspicion turning to shock. While the two of them had been occupied with eachother, the battle raging around them had developed. The skirmish between the gen one mech and the cyberdemon was the focal point of the battle, and one side had emerged victorious.

Sharrya’s trembling hands turned into fists, the Baroness quickly returning her attention to him. She seemed to meet his eyes even through the canopy. “This changes nothing,” she snapped. “The cyberdemons were a distraction, and their usefulness ended once you came to me.”

“The mech’s going to tear your legion’s a new asshole,” Andreas replied. “You’re not getting into the Rallypoint.”

“Damn the Rallypoint! Damn the cyberdemons, damn the Maykyrs, damn everything! All of that is beyond the scope of our bout, and I care not for any of it.”

Andreas thought of ancient Roman gladiators, basing their whole lives off glory and honour, and thought Sharrya fit that bill pretty well.

Sharrya voiced a war cry as she rushed him down, the sound chilling his blood. He raised his arm to block, but she feinted, harrying his canopy with a series of swift, savage punches. The glass creaked in protest, more cracks worming up the canopy as Sharrya pushed all her strength into the attacks. It was becoming harder and harder to see.

Andreas raised his knee into her gut, then backhanded her across the jaw, the demoness stumbling away in a daze. He grabbed her two horns like they were bike handles, then brought his forehead to hers, pulling her against the metal bars looping over the top of the canopy. The headbutt sent her swaying, that yellow eye-slot in her helmet shattering to pieces, its glow pulsing on and off like a fried lightbulb.

He thought her vision might be impaired, but she came right back at him without pause, delivering a swift kick to his knee joint. He buckled under the blow, failing to dodge away as her fist came pounding into the glass. He could hear it threatening to give, and when she struck him a second time, it did.

Shards rained over his face and chest, clinking off his combat armour as a small, two-inch wide hole appeared in the opaque window. Sharrya punched that spot again, and the gap grew another inch, Andreas feeling fresh air woosh into the cockpit.

Panic began to spread its roots through him, Andreas groping with his hand to shove her away, but she caught his limb in her armorued fingers, so strong that even the mech’s power wasn’t enough to break free. He batted at her with his particle cannon, unable to shoot her from this range, but it bounced off her spiked pauldron harmlessly. She held him like that, like he was an action figure she could pose at a whim, and her voice took on a much more surreal quality as she leered closer to the breach in the canopy, their eyes almost level.

“You’re mine,” she growled. “I’m going to pluck you from that toy suit and whisk you away. I wonder how the mortals would react, seeing their saviour abducted right before their very eyes.”

“And I wonder,” Andreas replied. “how sensitive are your eyes?”

She cocked her head as Andreas activated the floodlights topping his mech, millions of lumens worth of power shining directly into her face. The pressure on his mech released as she raised a hand to her head, failing to see Andreas readying his fist.

He pulled back his arm, bringing all the mech’s power to bear in a vicious uppercut, the attack as solid as it was deadly. Andreas felt a white-hot sore travel from his hand to his bicep as his limb connected, Sharrya’s head snapping at an awkward angle as she was lifted off her feet, flying for a few meters before touching back down, flipping once before she settled in the ash.

She lay there in hesitation for a handful of moments, and when she looked up she was staring down the steel barrel of his particle cannon, that blue energy coalescing over its length. She made to rise to her feet, but too late, the cannon was fully charged, a green indicator flashing on Andreas HUD.

He pulled the trigger.

A blue line connected the muzzle to the ash between her hooves, like a laser pointer, and then a white ball about three meters in diameter was drawn around the point, Sharrya’ bulk disappearing behind the sphere. It grew to a brightness that slowly became unbearable, and as Andreas shut his eyes, a thunderous report like a nuclear bomb erupted all around him.

His mech was tugged backwards by the shockwave, and for a horrific moment he thought he was too close to the blast radius. The light cleared in the next second, and Andreas put such worries aside. He was still in the mech, still outside the Rallypoint, but there was one thing that had been removed.

The place he’d aimed the cannon, Sharrya included, was gone. In its stead was a neat hole in the ground, the exact same dimensions as that glowing sphere. There were wisps of smoke rising from the ash, which had taken on a look of black glass.

He’d put an end to things, as Sharrya would have said.

He turned to the side, the giant outline of the gen one drawing his gaze. With the cyberdemon’s gone, it was cleaving the ranks of the lesser demons with its many guns, the Earth trembling whenever it put its railgun to use. Towards the rear ranks of the legions, some of the imps had seen their Baroness obliterated, and their morale crumbled, Andreas spotting clusters of the demonic taking to the ruins.

Not all of them were fleeing, but it was a clear tell that things were over. Their attack had failed, the mech was cleaning up the main force, and their leader was dead.

A strange feeling settled when that last one reinforced itself in his head, Andreas staring back at the new crater in mild disbelief. All these days of fighting, all his interactions with the Baroness, and now it was all over, in a single blink. It seemed rather anticlimactic, and a little disappointing, but perhaps not for the right reasons.

For a long while he just stood there, the motors in the mech hissing as the adrenaline from the fight bled away to leave him tired. He expected to be relieved that his mission was finally over, that the Baron was gone, yet relief was the last thing on his mind, he realised.

“Seargent?” a voice called, and for a second he thought it was Sharrya, and his heart skipped for some estranged reason. “Seargent, are you well?”

A drone came floating into his view from on high, Andreas recognising it as the one Eva had borrowed. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You did it,” Eva said, patched into his helmet’s communicator. “I watched the whole thing. You did it, Andreas! I’ve already sent word to the Commander, she should be more than happy of the news. With the high command gone, the attack is doomed to fail.”

“Yeah,” he said again. He was still looking at the smoking crater.

“Seargent? Are you sure you are well?” Eva asked, hovering closer. “Your voice patterns are analogous to distress, but you’re not critically injured. What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he said. Eva tilted her drone, like a parent who’s just caught their kid out on a lie.

“Andreas, come on, it’s me. I read your emotions almost any day, I can tell when the cat’s caught your tongue.”

“It’s just… she’s gone,” Andreas relented. “You know?”

“Yes…” she replied, dragging the word into another syllable. “I do in fact, know that to be the case. Why are acting so weird?”

“Well, I thought… I thought things would go differently.”

“Andreas, you shot her with a particle cannon. Everything caught in the blast is reduced on the atomic level. There was only one way that could have gone.”

“I thought she’d, I don’t know, get out of the way or something.”

Eva hovered closer, scrutinising him with that single lens. Like Sharrya, she seemed to know exactly where his face was. Maybe the canopy wasn’t all that opaque after all.

“Seargent,” she snapped. “You can’t be seriously…. Are you upset that she’s gone?”

“What? No,” he said, but the denial didn’t come out all that well.

“Yes you are! Andreas, Hell is mankind’s greatest evil, and Sharrya was one of their top generals! How can her death make you feel anything but joy?”

“She wasn’t evil,” he replied, Eva scowling at him. “Alright, maybe there was a little evil in her, but she’s far off from being a monster. Monsters don’t show mercy, and she did that to me several times before.”

“Be that as it may, she tried to destroy the Rallypoint, its people included. This isn’t to mention all the things she’s done to Spain before our arrival, plus whatever other crimes she’s committed on these other worlds she’s mentioned. She had to answer for all that.”

“I… I suppose so,” he relented, but that feeling still weighed in his chest, one that wasn’t quite disappointment, but very close to it.

“I’m sorry, Andreas,” Eva said. “I know she meant something to you – even though I cannot comprehend why this is – but what’s done is done. You saved a lot of people by bringing her down.”

That cheered him up somewhat, and he brought up his argumented hand, Eva responding by extending her claw and slapping it.

“We should report our success to the Commander firsthand,” Eva said. “I’m sure she-”

“Ooohhhh that’ll leave a mark...”

“Did you say something, Seargent?”

Andreas turned to the source of the voice, which had come from the particle cannon’s crater. He realised he that was wrong, it had come from beyond it, where a deep trench furrowed into the ground beyond in a long gash, following the curve of the Rallypoint’s corner section.

The trench was around ten meters at its lowest point, and as he stood upon the lip, he saw something blue odwn there, and it didn’t take a genius to know what it was.

“Oh come on!” Eva complained. “She lived through that, too! How?”

Andreas supposed his aim with the cannon had fallen just short enough she could get out of its range, though it seemed she hadn’t gone unscathed. The front of her chestplate was completely gone, a giant burn mark bloomed beneath her breasts. Her hands were charred black, a couple of her claws and fingers missing, and just like the ash, smoke was trailing from her cybernetic armour.

His approach brought the Baroness out of her fugue, one of her ruined hands reaching up to her head. Her helmet was cracked all over, and she ripped it off with a kind of lazy patience, exposing her snarling features. She let the helmet roll away, where it settled by her ankle, Sharrya looking up at him tiredly.

“I think… I should have taken you up on your offer, Seargent,” Sharrya chuckled, but the laughter only seemed to hurt her more. “What on Hell did you hit me with?”

“Particle cannon,” he said. “Supposed to destroy your atoms or some shit.”

“It destroyed more than that,” Sharrya said, holding up her hand and staring at the stumps she had for fingers. “Something tells me I’m not regenerating this one anytime soon.”

She reclined on the slope, staring up at the heavens. “I have finally found my match,” she mused. “Thirty-nine worlds it took, and you have fought for this one harder than any other. Fought very well.”

“I blast you to Hell, and you still compliment me?” Andreas asked. “You are one crazy bitch, Sharrya.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Sharrya replied. Her eyes flicked to Eva, then to him, her arms bobbing in a shrug. “Well? What are you waiting for? End it.”

“Easier said than done,” Andreas replied. “You took a particle cannon like it was nothing. If that couldn’t do it…”

“Oh, I’m sure a second attempt will do the trick,” Sharrya said. She tapped a claw to her temple. “I may be immortal, but even I can’t survive without a skull, and regenerating brain tissue is beyond my ability. So hurry up and get on with it.”

Andreas stood over her, raising one robotic leg over her head. Even with the weight of a tank looming above her, there wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes. He believed her when she said that this time, she wouldn’t survive such a blow, beaten and battered as she was.

“May you reclaim this Earth,” Sharrya said in the following silence.

With a grunt, Andreas brought his leg down, and even when its heavy landing rumbled the ground, Sharrya didn’t so much as blink. One side of her brow did quirk, however, when she turned to see the limb had pummelled the ash right beside her head.

“You’ve been fair with me,” Andreas muttered, his mech clunking as he moved back a few steps. “Now I’ll be fair with you, just this once.”

“Well that was overdramatic,” Sharrya said, gazing up at him in wonder. “You could have just said that instead of pretending to stomp my brains out…”

Andreas found a suitable place to stablise the mech, the joints locking

together as he activated the resting mode. Eva was doing one-eighties as she gazed from him to Sharrya, spinning like a floating top.

“If you won’t kill her, Seargent, now what?” Eva asked.

“Indeed,” Sharrya agreed. “What happens now? Am I free to go, wallow in my failure to best you?”

“Not quite,” Andreas said. The cockpit bloomed open like two petals, splitting into two halves that opened to the left and right. The cracked canopy glass grinded and produced a few more stray splits, but it held, the mech crouching of its own accord so Andreas could hop out onto the ash.

Sharrya’s eyes lingered on him for a second, her tongue snaking out to wet her lips. “Don’t tell me you plan on going hand-to-hand with me? While I’d enjoy the prospect of getting my claws on you, I don’t think you’d say the same.”

Even reduced to her ruined state, she still summoned up the will to chuckle at him, as if him holding her life in his hands just a second ago was now a lost memory. When he disappeared behind the mech’s bulk, then reappeared a moment later, he was holding something in his hands, and when her eyes darted toward it, that confident smile dropped off her mouth.

“What’s that?” she asked warily, shifting in the ditch as if she’d grown uncomfortable.

-xXx-

“I didn’t know you were into BDSM, Seargent,” Sharrya cooed, looking over her shoulder as she trudged through the ash, hands together and out in front.

“Silence, prisoner,” Eva snapped, and rammed her drone into her flank with all the force of a tossed pebble. The Baroness growled like a hungry lioness, but didn’t retaliate. Perhaps she saw the robot as unworthy of the effort.

Sharrya’s hands were bound by a pair of shackles, the blue glow pulsing from where it clamped over her wrists painting her skin in soft tones.

“Just how did you even acquire a pair of demonic cuffs?” Eva asked, floating behind the Baroness. Andreas was behind the drone, back inside the mech, arms swinging by his metal sides.

“Nicked them while we were waiting around for Selena to do her thing,” Andreas explained. Eva gave him a cold look. “What? Wasn’t like she was using them.”

“Let’s hope everyone’s too shocked by the prisoner to realise you stole from them.”

The Rallypoint wall was on their immediate left, Andreas had told Sharrya to stay close unless she wanted the guns on the walls to rip her to shreds. On the right, the scattered forces of her legions had vacated the area, leaving a sea of corpses behind, but the battle hadn’t reached its conclusion just yet. The gen one mech had taken to the city streets, just slim enough to fit between the buildings, wiping out any resistance with its array of weaponry, backed up by platoons of footsoldiers mechanised with support vehicles.

The sounds of fighting were echoed with distance, leaving an eery quietness to settle over the Rallypoint, one that Sharrya was quick to take advantage of with conversation.

“I recognise your voice, little machine,” she said, armour creaking as she gazed at the drone. Her helmet had been discarded, but the rest of her was still clad in that advanced suit. “Were you the one who interrupted the good Seargent and I’s conversation, way back when?”

“That wasn’t the only one of your schemes I countered,” Eva shot back. “Andreas did all the legwork, but I was there to observe, gather intelligence, and call support as needed.”

“So you’re a glorified stalker, I see. Perhaps it was jealousy that drove you to stopping our banter.”

“The only thing you’ll banter with from now on are your cell bars, prisoner.”

“Rudest floating toaster I’ve ever met,” Sharrya muttered, stepping over a small crater. “I was wondering if this world had robotic intelligence.”

“How do you know she’s not a real person?” Andreas asked.

“Don’t give it away!” Eva hissed. “She could have been bluffing!”

“Yours is not the first people I’ve seen to have machines as their allies,” Sharrya said. “I assume the humans created you, yes?”

“I’m mankind’s creation,” Eva explained. “Why would that be otherwise?”

“Oh, a couple of world’s I’ve been to have had artificial intelligences,” she said, waving a flippant hand. “Some made by mortals delving into machine-learning, some not.”

“You’re saying you’ve seen computers that were self-made?” Eva asked. “How? Where?”

Behind them, Andreas smirked inside the cockpit. Eva was disapproving of Sharrya at the best of times, but now she was riddling the demon for answers. Sharrya seemed to catch onto this development as well, a smirk curling her lips, which were still caked with dry reams of blood.

“Ah, but I thought my banter was restricted to the walls of my cell?” she teased. “Let me sate your curiosity with this: In the infinite strands of the Cosmos, anything is possible.”

Eva grumbled like a child denied their desert, Sharrya’ shoudlers hopping as she snickered. She seemed in fine spirits for someone who’d been captured, and their army in full retreat, strolling along with only a slight limp in her off step. Andreas noted that her missing fingers were already starting to reappear, growing back like the stems of a blooming plant. The armour on her upper stomach, disintegrated from the particle cannon’s blast, had taken chunks of her flesh along with it, but they too were coming back, its off-white flesh knitting the tendons together before his very eyes. Give her another hour, and Andreas guessed she would be right as rain.

To say the guardsman at the gate were surprised by the three of them would be an understatement. Clicking plastic rose in a cacophony of startlement as about twenty soldiers turned their guns on them, and it was only by Andreas stepping protectively in front of Sharrya that they didn’t open up on the Baroness, who was striding forward without pause all the while.

“Hold your fire,” Andreas called, putting a hand on Sharrya’s shoulder as he held her behind. “We captured a live one, someone fetch the Commander immediately.”

“My my,” Sharrya purred, reaching out and brshing the mech’s canopy with the back of her fingers. “You almost took a rain of bullets for me. Such chivalry should be rewarded, but how?”

“Just keep walking and don’t cause any problems,” he said, and motioned her forward. He anticipated some sort of comment or retaliation, but she moved on without complaint, though she met his gaze through the glass as she did.

The men parted to let his and Sharrya’s bulky forms through, Andreas walking by her side. It felt strange to just be so close to the Baroness, not quite touching each other but well within arm’s reach to do so.

Once they were through the threshold, Sharrya’s expression took on a thoughtful quality, her gaze moving up and to the sides as she took in the Rallypoint’s interior. There were winged imp bodies littering the ground in places, but the majority of the demons had fought up on the battlements, leaving the courtyard mostly unscathed. A few of the imps had reached as far as the warehouses, but from the way the men looked more at ease than not, it seemed any stragglers had been cleaned out.

“I always wondered what this base looked like from the inside,” Sharrya thought aloud, a few of the soldiers raising their rifles, as though shocked by her ability to speak. Andreas remembered reacting the same way. “It seems I got my wish, though perhaps not in quite the right circumstances. What’s that thing on the ground?”

“Grass,” Eva answered. “You should touch it, it’s not like you’ll get another chance.”

They didn’t have to wait long for Valeria. The Commander had to be forewarned of Sharrya’s presence, but she might not have quite believed it, the way her eyes parted just a fraction wider when she laid eyes on the Baroness. She was bodyguarded by two additional soldiers, and like the gaurds at the gate, they never took their weapons off Sharrya.

“I wish you had told me beforehand you planned on capturing this… thing,” Valeria said, directing her statement to Andreas. “but I must commend you nonetheless. So,” she added, folding her arms, addressing the Baroness directly. “You are the puta who’s killed so many of my people.”

“I know not what a puta is,” Sharrya replied. “but I’ve slain my fair share of mortals, correct. I assume you’re in charge of this place?”

Valiera didn’t answer, knotting her face as she staired up at her demonic counterpart.

“You’ve done a fine job of this place, very fine,” Sharrya continued, craning her neck to peer at the headquarter rooftops. “There’s a solidity to this ‘Rallypoint’. So stalwart, despite its immensity. You and your fortifications have once more proved unrelenting against my legions.”

“Save your petty comments, abomination,” Valeria snapped. “Instead tell me why I should not line you up against that wall and have you shot? You deserve no less for all those you have slaughtered.”

“Oh please, like your hands are any less bloodied. You send men to death, I send men to death, those men kill each other just as surely as planets go round. And all that death leads back to us, the Commanders, the Baron’s, the only difference is that I’m in the front, while you sit pretty behind these walls, watching fights through cameras than with your own eyes.”

Valeria looked like she wanted to tear Sharrya’s face off, but the demon just offered her signature I-couldn’t-care-less grin, Valeria throwing her hands up in anger.

“Hijo de puta! No nos parecemos en nada, maldito saco miserable de pis y viento! Te haré pagar por cada pizca de crueldad que has puesto en mi pueblo!”

“What did the cow just say?” Sharrya demanded, turning to Andreas, the motors in his suit whirring as he shrugged his metal shoulders.

Eva hovered in between the two women, pincers held up like a referee breaking up a boxing match. “Commander Valeria, do not let this… temptress get to you! It knows things that could turn the tide of this war, and the successful interrogation of one could be the key to reclaiming Spain, and all of Earth! That cannot be done if you do something rash now.”

Valeria rubbed her temples, marking the last moment she would ever refer to Sharrya directly. “There’s no part of the Geneva Convention that puts demons under its protection, is there? ARC has not made any edits to it?”

Eva turned her drone in her approximation of a head shake.

“Good. We’ll spare no expense for it. Take the creature down to the labs,” she said, waving at her guards. “Seargent Andreas, please escort them. You have my permission to use the particle cannon should it try anything. Now get it out of my sight.”

Eva and Andreas were joined by first four, then ten additional soldiers, the procession flanking Sharrya on all sides, every muzzle pointed at her face as they led her down the nearest path.

“Temptress?” Sharrya whispered, leaning conspiratorially towards Andreas.

“Just keep quiet, Sharrya.”

“Why, am I bothering these fine gentlemen?” she shouted, turning the other way and peering down at the nearest soldier, the man quaking under her gaze, even despite her sincere smile. “Greetings, mortal, do you think me a temptress too?”

Andreas yanked her by the arm, and she bounced after him, the troubled guard taking a step back. “I like that mech, Seargent,” Sharrya said. “You can really handle me around. I like that in a man.”

“Keep moving, Sharrya, don’t make me drag you outta here.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Andreas shook his head, Sharrya chuckling as they continued through the courtyard. There were no civilians about, they had been evacuated to the lower levels for safety, and Andreas thought that was a good thing. The soldiers were getting jumpy just from escort duty, he could imagine the reaction from the women and children would be far worse, and how could it not be? A Baroness of Hell had made it through the walls, and the question of whether she was up to no god or not was up in the air. They’d have to keep an eye on her. More specifically, he would have to keep an eye on her. He knew her better than anyone else, and perhaps for reasons that weren’t polite to say out loud.

They proceeded to the western sections of the Rallypoint, Sharrya examining the buildings as they went. She was more fascinated than perturbed for a prisoner, he saw.

At the northwestern corner of the Rallypoint, the party crammed into the service lift leading down to the labs. Half of the guards went first, followed by Sharrya, Andreas and the rest of the men stepping onto the metal grating last. The lift was wide and strong enough to accommodate the mech, but not with the Baroness straining it at the same time, Andreas leaving the suit behind and in the care of a passing engineer.

As the gates closed and the lift sank below the surface, Andreas feared that if there was any moment for Sharrya to try anything, it was now, with over a dozen humans sharing the same tiny space with a heavy-class demon, but she proved his worries were in vain, as all the resistance she produced came from a small tapping of her hoof.

“How’s it feel, Baroness?” Eva asked suddenly.

“How’s what feel, flying microwave?” she shot back.

“To be defeated, to have finally met your match, to know you’re going to answer for all you’ve done?”

Sharrya chewed her lower lip, considering her answer.

“Liberating. The burden one bears from leading a conquest is a heavy one, and I do not miss its weight. Perhaps the shock of defeat hasn’t quite set in yet, but my mind seems unusually clear now that the war machine is out of my control.”

“Maybe you can use this time to reflect,” Andreas added in . “Like in the movies where the bad guy learns to be humble.”

“Moo-vie?” Sharrya asked. “What in the Hell-gods’ names in that?”

He was going to ask if she was serious, but thought that would be a stupid question, so he explained it. His description reminded him of the time he’d had this exact same conversation with Eva, back when they’d first met. Eva’s creators hadn’t for whatever reason taught her about shows and movies, and he spoke with the same passion now as he did back then.

“So it is like a theatre act, only projected onto a screen?” Sharrya asked. “Intriguing. I should like to know what makes such a thing possible.”

“You’re missing out,” Andreas said. “I can’t believe you’ve been across time and space and never seen a TV.”

The doors parted, the soldiers moving out backwards as they trained their weapons on the Baroness, Sharrya following after a prod from Andreas’ glove.

The scientists and Selena were just inside, crowded around a terminal. The all-clear must have been called, because she had a glazed look in her eyes as she stared away at her monitor, giving the band of newcomers the barest flicker of a glance.

“So this is where you plan to cage me? I’ve seen worse,” Sharrya mused, sweeping her gaze until it settled on Selena. “Fetch the head torturer, clerk, let us get on with this.”

It took two seconds for Selena to finally register the group, a hand shooting to her mouth as she looked upon the Baroness. She flashed to her feet, and she almost did go and get the torturer until her brain caught up with her actions.

“S-Seargent Andreas?” she asked, her voice trembling ass he looked to the once person she recognised. “W-What is that… thing... doing in my lab?”

“She gave up after the fighting was done,” Andreas explained.

“I prefer if you said mortally wounded to submission,” Sharrya interrupted. “Sounds better.”

Andreas ignored her. “Commander wants her put under lock and key until we figure out what to do with her. “

“I wish I had gotten a little warning,” Selena muttered, her hand falling to her chest. “Scared the daylights out of me.”

“It was a last-minute kind of thing,” he added.

“Well then, it’s not like we’re wanting for space,” Selena said, picking up a datapad and moving round the desk. “Follow me.”

She led the soldiers and their charge through the containment cells, the same ward Andreas had examined on his last visit. Selena bent over the retinal scanner, and there was a satisfying beep as the doors unlocked, Sharrya ducking through the arch while the rest of them walked through.

Sharrya turned her snout up at the large tubes lining the left wall, pausing briefly to look over their demonic occupants. The imp with the scratched glass casing stopped its frazzled swiping the instant it spotted the Baroness, looking at her with a kind of amazed reverence. The whiplash coiled its serpentine body into a tight spring, its yellow eyes tracking Sharrya’s own.

The Baroness walked beyond the containers like she was examining an art gallery, the shackles on her wrists creaking as she gestured. “I can see you’ve made incisions on these poor fellows, mostly on the skull and spine. How do they still live?”

“Repairing any damaged tissue is a top priority,” Selena said, speaking with a kind of casualness that surprised Andreas. She must converse with demons all the time. “Having functional neurological pathways ensures more accurate test data.”

“At least I put down those whose souls I plan to harvest.” Sharrya sighed dramatically. “But I guess I’m the monster here.”

They came to the last cell on the right side of the chamber, and for the first time since she’d been restrained, Sharrya hesitated. In the glass capsule opposite the door, the spirit demon floated with its pointed feet a few inches above the floor, the flaps of skin trailing from its spine wisping through the air behind it as though caught in a vacuum. Even without eyes, its crowned head regarded Sharrya curiously, and despite it hardly moving an inch, Sharrya froze up like a deer before oncoming headlights.

There was a sound of metal sliding on metal, and the containment cell door was parting, revealing its whitewashed contents. The floor was laid with tiles, the floors composed of plush cushioning that he recognised as soundproofing material. Andreas knew the more temperamental demons could make quite the screech when they could. He could see no furniture, and no windows. He’d go crazy within the hour if he had to spend time in a cell like that.

“Inside, please,” Selena said, logging away at her datapad.

“Why do I get the one right next to this creature?” Sharrya demanded, gesturing at the spirit, who cocked its head one way. “It’s going to stare right into my window the whole time. Can I not have the next one over?”

“I’ve already logged you for cell six, I can’t undo it,” Selena replied. “Now move. I’d rather not have these men shoot up the place.”

“Ridiculous,” Sharrya grumbled, but she stepped into the cell when she remembered the many guns trained on her head. Andreas wondered why she was so reluctant, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

Some of the soldiers shared a sigh when Selena activated the electronic locks, and the cell door clunked back into place, sectioning them off from the Baroness. Her horns touched the ceiling, leaving her to hunch over slightly in order to move around, but the Baroness quickly grew bored when she realised there was nothing inside to occupy herself with.

The solders soon dismissed themselves, leaving Andreas and Eva alone with Selena, who had turned her attention to her datapad. Sharrya crept up the cell door and watched them silently. When she gave Andreas a small wave, he waved back.

“So what happens now?” he asked, Selena pushing her glasses up her nose.

“I’ll arrange for tighter security details in the ward, can’t take any chances with a Baroness. Once I’ve got her processed we’ll see what we can do about getting her on an operating table.”

Something simmered in his chest at that, a pang of worry, but he suppressed it before it could bloom.

“What kind of tests will you be conducting?” Eva asked.

“Brain surgery, mostly, we’ll start mapping the neural pathways and see how much a Baron’s brain differentiates from the other demon classes, maybe figure out what makes them born leaders. After that we’ll open her up, take tissue samples, we can learn a lot from an autopsy.”

“You don’t want to interrogate her first?” Andreas asked. “She’s a prisoner of war, she might be willing to cooperate.”

“Two things,” Selena said. “First, prisoners of war do not extend to the demonic. And second, what would be the point of questioning her? I’ve never known a demon to give up its secrets willingly, and I’ve operated on over a hundred demons in my life. We can bypass the entire questioning process by going straight for the brain.”

“But this one communicates in English,” Eva replied. “How many demons have you processed that could do that?”

“None,” Selena replied. “but why would she comply? Every demon barring a few elite classes are completely expendable, and they know it.”

“Let me worry about that,” Andreas said. “I can think if a few ways to make her talk.”

“You?” Selena asked, as though he’d just suggested that he should run for president. “Do you have any experience in the study of the demonic, or training in interrogation techniques?”

“I’ve killed about eight hundred demons, so I’m pretty familiar with their anatomy. Plus Sharrya’s got a thing for me, so...”

“A ‘thing’? What sort of thing? You mean a vendetta, or-”

“What he’s trying to say,” Eva butted in. “is that he does have experience. His time in the special forces included CAC - conduct after capture training. He knows how to handle both sides of a questioning scenario. I vouch for him.”

“Indeed?” Selena asked, considering the pair of them, then holding up her datapad once more. “I’d have to speak to Valeria first, of course, get her approval before we move forward. You really think you have something that could get her to talk?”

Both she and Eva turned to him, Andreas glancing over to see Sharrya was also watching him, probably trying to read their lips and follow the conversation.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes I do.”

-xXx-

That thirteen-hour nap he’d had on his first night in the Rallypoint had spoiled him for rest, and Andreas had taken to his room after checking with Valeria that she no longer needed his help with the defence. According to the Commander, the gen one mech was pushing deeper and deeper into the city, and rather than encountering heavier resistance, there was less, and the lack of Sharrya to coordinate their movements was turning Spain into a shooting gallery for humanity. For all intents and purposes, Andreas’ mission was a success.

With the skies cleared, dropships could be sent in from the fleet to pick up the Seargent and the surviving marines, and they would be whisked away to the next operation in ARC’s planetary defence. Apart from the pensive ARC pilots who wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be shot down on their way to pick up Andreas and the others, nothing was keeping him in the Rallypoint.

Nothing except the Baroness, of course. His business with her had yet to be resolved. The fact she’d been captured didn’t change anything, except that now he had the opportunity to approach her on his terms, not the other way around, as it had always been since he’d crashed here.

Just under a day passed before he returned to the labs, Selena greeting him in the lobby. Her studies of the Baroness had been contained to simple examination for the moment, and it seemed all the Baroness had done since her capture was take off her armour and pace from the east wall to the west.

Her containment cell had no windows, no way for Sharrya to peer into the outside save for the small slice of glass on the door, but even then all she’d see was the captured spirit on the other side of the corridor. Yet despite this, as Andreas moved up to her cell, he found her demonic visage filling said window, Sharrya peering at him expectantly, like she’d sensed his approach.

He suppressed the involuntary chill at the thought, but Sharrya must have caught it, the corner of her lips twitching into a malicious grin. He let go of the thing he’d been pushing and reached up to the panel, hitting the button that activated the communicator.

“It’s visiting hours, Sharrya, you up for a little chat?”

The communicator was one-way, and Sharrya seemed to know this, for she nodded silently.

“Protocol says you have to stand up against the back wall first, then they’ll unlock the door.”

She did as he asked, hugging the wall like a mountaineer navigating a thin slope. There was a buzz, and then the door latch opened, Andreas sliding it out of his way.

The cell was layered with the fragrance of a freshly-bought car, but there was an underlying summer heat to it, and he knew at once why that was. Sharrya must give off a tremendous amount of body heat. It was a wonder that padded walls hadn’t caught fire yet.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away forever,” Sharrya said, her green eyes flashing. “Very bold of you to walk into a demon’s den unannounced, Seargent, especially with no easy way out.”

The door clanked shut behind him, as though to prove her point. The moment it settled, she peeled off the wall, taking a step closer. Gone was her cybernetic armour, piled into the far corner, the Baroness back to wearing her loincloth and leather swing.

“And you didn’t even bring a weapon either! One would think you were begging me to break all the bones in your body.”

Andreas chuckled, and Sharrya joined in as well, though perhaps not for the same reasons as he. It was a tittering sound that was stilting but not unpleasant, and Andreas didn’t think it fit at all with the face that was producing it.

“If you did try anything,” he said. “I think I could take you, given how you’re cuffed and the suppression field’s on full blast.”

“I did feel a certain sluggishness when I moved through that gate,” Sharrya admitted. “like a lead weight has settled in my hooves. But do you think these chains make me any less dangerous? I could crush you with my legs if I could get you at just the right angle…”

“I’m sure you could, but that’s not what you want,” Andreas replied.

“Oh?” She bent down to his level, like a parent about to school a petulant child. “And what is it I want, Seargent?”

“You want this hostility between us to be over,” he said. “We’ve hurt each other, physically and otherwise, but it’s time we buried the hatchet. Your war ended the moment I put those cuffs on you, and I’m willing to stop seeing you as my enemy if you are.”

“You are half-correct,” Sharrya replied. “While it is true I would find a development in our relationship so very exciting, the fact you just keep on going, keep on testing me when all others would have long since given up, it stokes the fire in my heart like you wouldn’t believe.”

She had a dreamy expression on her face as she said that, Andreas shaking his head in exasperation. “You like having an enemy then?”

“Andreas, I am not your enemy, nor do I see you as my own. I like to think of us as… rivals, with conflicting goals that help break the monotony that comes with staying in one place for too long. You staying alive is of great value to me, in a way.”

“I’d believe that, if you didn’t just threaten to break my bones just a second ago.”

This time she instigated the laughter, her shackles bumping her head as she brushed her cheek with a knuckle. “A simple misunderstanding. I’ve never been held prisoner before, and I’m of the strong opinion I do not enjoy it. The combination of the isolation, and all the recent events having finally dawned on me, has made me feel futile and not a bit furious. I needed to vent out on someone.”

“Maybe I should get you a stress ball or something,” Andreas said. “But I’m not sure Selena would let me.”

“Ah yes, the closet torturer,” Sharyya snarled. “I’m starting to wish you had not spared me. That vile creature has treated the rest of these demons rather poorly. Well, at least those with flesh.”

Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, to the window in the door, and Andreas noted that for the second time she had this odd look about her as she looked upon the spirit just outside her cell. It was a look of anxiety, or perhaps fear, but he knew for a fact Sharrya had seen worse horrors than any human could imagine, surely she wasn’t anxious of another demon, was she?

“You keep looking at that spirit over there,” he noted. “Is it talking to you?”

“I wish it wouldn’t,” Sharrya grumbled. “Pestilent poltergeist keeps rambling on in his sad little voice and staring into my cell. If only your mad scientist would terminate it posthaste.”

“When you first got here, you said you didn’t want the cell straight across from it,” Andreas noted.

“What of it?” Sharrya scoffed, folding her arms. “There are five good cells further away from that thing, and she puts me in the one directly in its sight. Why are you smirking, Seargent?”

“Cause I think,” he said, struggling to hold back laughter. “that Baroness Sharrya, conqueror of the universe and top dog of the Shattered Peaks, is scared of ghosts.”

Andreas threw back his head, Sharrya scowling at him as the cell filled with his hysterics. The spirit tilted its head at them in its ever-silent watch.

“Did you come here just to mock me?” Sharrya demanded, her gaze piercing straight through him. “I may not want to kill you, but my temper is oft to change if you test my patience, believe you me.”

The tops of her eyes seemed to grow tendrils of green flame, flashing like hot coals before a pair of bellows. Her ability to shift expressions so quickly was uncanny to put it lightly, and he urged himself to tread more lightly, regardless if she was a prisoner or not.

“I did come here for a reason,” he said. “I brought you something.”

“A gift, for me?” she asked, tilting her head curiously. “I was flattered enough just by the visit, but now you come with an offering?”

“I wouldn’t call it an offering, but after what you said before, I couldn’t help myself.”

“What I said?” she echoed. “What are you talking about?”

“Wait here and I’ll show you.” He moved back to the door, but when he hit the unlocking latch, it didn’t budge. “Scratch that, you have to stand by the wall again.”

Exaggerating her reluctance, Sharrya sulked over to the far side of the cell, and the door unlocked. He grabbed the handles of the trolley he’d carted into the lab, sparing the spirit a glance, then wheeled it into the cell.

Sharrya leaned on a hip, watching him roll by with a mix of fascination and confusion. Andreas presented the cart to her, the Baroness gesturing with her palms turned up.

“What… is it?” she asked.

“This is a TV,” he said, patting the top of the monitor. “And that’s a DVD player,” he added, pointing to the box on the first shelf of the cart. “Couldn’t stream on account of all the broadcasting networks going dark, but I’ve always been partial to using good old CD’s anyway.”

“I understood maybe half of that,” Sharrya said. “What exactly is this contraption you’ve brought me?”

“We’re going to watch a movie,” he elaborated. “You said you’ve never even heard of one, and I just had to fix that for you. A couple of the civvies let me borrow a whole bunch of them, let’s see here…”

On the lower shelf were stacks of movie cases, and Andreas pulled one out, beginning to sift through the titles. Sharrya peered over his shoulder, seeming a little out of her element by his sudden proposal.

“What is the point of this activity?” she asked. “Do all demons consume human media before going under the knife? A form of brainwashing, perhaps?”

“No, no, movies are entertainment, they help you forget all the worries of life for a few hours, maybe help you learn something if it’s a really good one. It’s also a good social experience if you and your friends have a few hours to kill, and you’ve got a lot of spare time on your plate, Sharrya.”

“I see, so it is brainwashing, but on a more selective level. A distraction, one I sorely need right about now.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. There’re a few gems here, but you can pick out what you want to watch.”

He held out the movie cases, but Sharrya didn’ take them, clicking her tongue in irritation instead.

“I have no basis on what these things are, remember? How do you expect me to pick one?”

“Ah. Right,” he said, feeling a little silly. “Well in that case, what’s your preference? You like action, adventure, thrillers, romances…?”

“How about a plot based on warfare? I would like to see how conquest is portrayed in your culture. If you have anything about the greater Cosmos, I would see that as well.”

“Somehow I knew you’d be into war movies,” Andreas said. “I think I have just the one…. here! This one was made around the time multiverse movies were the big craze. It’s about this guy that hops between world trying to save this woman. Plenty of action.”

“Are you referring to the woman, or in terms of fighting?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” he said, giving her a wink, one she chuckled at. “There’s plenty more here if you want me to go through a few others.”

“Let us watch that one first,” she said, holding him by the shoulder. “As you said, I have plenty of time to ‘kill’. Now play the movie.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, popping the case and sliding the disk into the player. There was no way to turn the lights off from inside, but that was a small price to pay to get to watch this classic again.

He sat down on the hard tiles before the screen, and after hesitating, Sharrya did the same, crossing her long legs as she sat beside him, using the wall to recline. As the title screen bloomed across the monitor, Andreas jerked forward, reaching for the space behind the many cases, and producing a plastic bag.

“What’s that you have?” Sharrya asked, watching him produce another smaller, colourful packet from within.

“Can’t go watching a movie without a snack,” Andreas replied, tipping the bag of candy over his mouth and munching away. “Want shum?” he asked.

“It smells very sweet,” she muttered in disapproval, pinching a piece of candy between her claws. “I imagine it is high in calories also. Don’t tell me you eat this drivel?”

“Shut up, it’s starting.”

-xXx-

Their fronts were painted in instances of white as the screen flashed with action, the fight scene partnered with a dramatic orchestra. His back was bleeding with cramps thanks to his awkward leaning position, cursing himself for forgetting to bring a few cushions with him on his theatrical visit.

Andreas glanced to his left, where Sharrya lounged nearby, where she didn’t seem to share his discomfort. She was laying with just her shoulders propped up against the wall, her long legs trailing out in a V shape before her – a very un-Baron-like look in his opinion – but her defeat in the assault must have harmed her ability to care as well as her pride.

They were divided by a long row of junk food packets, and he was amused to see her clawed hand dip into them every few moments, bringing the snacks to her maw. Either she had come around to their taste, or she was too engrossed in the movie to care. He thought it might be the latter, considering that the movie’s first hour had been full of her confused questions, but the second hour she hadn’t uttered so much as a peep.

The silence was unlike her, considering their past, and while he wouldn’t say it was a friendly kind of silence, he had to admit this was much better than the two of them shooting at each other. It wasn’t every day one got to hang out with a demon, one with a tantalising set of legs no less. The way they just seemed to stretch across the cell was always causing his eyes to flick over at them.

The end credits soon began to roll, Andreas sitting up to roll his tense shoulders, asking Sharrya what she made of it.

“Your species’ perception of multiverses is completely wrong,” she replied. “Every diversion they went to had the same breathable air, the same temperate climate, even the same gravity. Such constants wouldn’t exist, the way they were jumping around the Cosmos so carefree.”

“It’s not a documentary on quantum physics or whatever,” he chided. “And it’s not like any human has actually gone into the multiverse.”

“True. The theory is there, however, and I can’t fault that. Nor can I fault the plot, it was quite intriguing, particularly around the second act. This discovery of movies is most enjoyable.”

“And you didn’t even have to destroy the whole world to do it,” he muttered, but not quietly enough that she didn’t hear.

“One would think you were making a jab at my society,” Sharrya replied, her green eyes tracking him intently as he got to his feet.

“Is that what you call it?” he said sarcastically, but Sharrya was quick to respond.

“Oh yes, Hell is a complex civilisation, the legions are just one facet of many. We have cultures, social hierarchies, even a few rudimentary forms of currency.”

“Comparing summoning circles with your neighbours, serving demon lords, and trading in souls doesn’t make you a civilisation, it makes you the literal definition of evil.”

Sharrya shrugged. “That is still the definition of a society, no matter what universe you come from. You might perceive it as evil from your standpoint, but I see very similar characteristics in your world, also. Does mankind not kill in the name of its own gods? Does mankind not trade in the souls of its own people, orchestrating decade-long wars in which every death can be profited?”

“Our hands aren’t clean, I won’t deny that. But we’ve never invaded another universe and slaughtered all its people, so on that, we’re one up on you.”

“A reasonable point, if a little naïve. This might come as a surprise to you, but my actions are not malicious, and neither are Hell’s. Conquest across worlds is my way of life, both literally and figuratively.”

“I could see how you’re not a completely evil asshole,” Andreas said. “but Hell as a whole? That’ll need some convincing.”

“How could I put this in a way you’d understand?” Sharrya mused, munching on another handful of candy as she considered her question. The shackles made her hand gestures awkward, but not impossible. “Think of an engine. An engine needs a constant source of fuel, or else it will cease to work, rust, and soon to be rendered incapable of functioning. See where I’m getting with this? Hell is an engine, and a very hungry one at that, but it’s very picky about its fuel. Do you know what that fuel is?”

“If I had to guess, it would be human souls.”

“Not just human souls, any souls. Yours, mine, aliens. The greater the sin of the person, the better. Without the legions to siphon the energies of souls to Hell, it would rust, decay, until all of it would cease to exist, demons included.”

“That sounds… pretty good to me,” Andreas said, Sharrya glaring at him.

“I know you don’t mean that, Seargent. You spared me when you had your chance to end our fight, you must see something in me worth saving.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” he said. “What I do see, is that we need something else to watch.”

“Indeed, let us not ruin our movie night with politics. Assuming it is nighttime. You pick this one,” she added. “I wish to see your taste in media.”

“Alright,” he said, sorting through the collection. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure,” she said, and he tossed her a can. Despite her shackles, her arms shot out to snatch it, the Baroness using her claw to flip the tab.

“It’s cool, but also spicy,” she said after taking a sip. “You know my palate too well, Andreas.”

“Try some of those warheads in that red packet there, they’ve got some kick in them if you like it hot.”

“I certainly do. Make haste, will you? Who knows when my captors will cut this visit short?”

“Don’t worry about that. People are celebrating our victory out there, should have a few days at least to yourself before they remember about you.”

“A humiliating position, but not an unpleasant one, if it means getting some alone time with my favourite human.”

“Positive thoughts, Sharr’. Positive thoughts.”

As the next movie began to cycle on, Andreas returned ot his place by the wall, but his back began to complain as soon as he settled in, Sharrya shooting him a questioning look.

“Why are you fidgeting?”

“This cell doesn’t exactly make the best lounge, Sharrya, I thought you of all people would know that.”

“You’re not all that tough without your armour on, it seems,” she chuckled. “Come, I know a solution.”

“What are y- hey!”

Sharrya scooted closer, and curled her arm over his shoulders, the whole move reminding him of the yawn-arm-trick, which was fitting considering the circumstances. Her manacles clicked over his chest as she pulled him closer, his shoulder plunging into the meat of her right breast.

He thought that should he ever touch her, she’d be as hot as a stove, and he wasn’t far off the mark. Her skin was like the hood of a car left out in the sun, just barely tolerable to his bare skin, yet there was a smooth texture to her that he couldn’t deny the feel of. He’d expected a demon to be as rough as scales, but her bubble-gum pink skin was like glass against his cheek and arm.

Textures aside, being in contact with the demon had sparked a hint of apprehension in him, and he struggled against her iron-grip. “Sharrya, what the Hell? Let go of me!”

“You said you wanted a lounge, you got one,” she replied. “Stop squirming, Andreas, I’m trying to concentrate on the show.”

“Personal space have any meaning to you?” he complained, trying to shove her away. He almost touched her bosom before grabbing her by the stomach, but it was like trying to push over a bull, her strength quintupling his own.

“You’re the one in my cell, so technically this is all my personal space,” she pointed out.

“You better let me go, or-”

“Or what?” she asked, cutting him off. “You going to kill me, with no weapons or armour, or even the strength to overpower me? Sure, you could cry for help, I’m sure someone is listening in for some sort of safeword, but there is really no reason to get so worked up, Andreas. Being snuggled by me isn’t as bad as it may seem.”

He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d put himself in this precarious situation. He couldn’t break free of her grip, and he began to worry what sort of vengeance she could take on him at this moment.

“Just relax,” she purred, Sharrya pulling him over her leg. The fur on her thigh brushed his rump as he was brought into her lap, her hot flesh sealing him in on all sides. “What do you think I’m going to do, hold you hostage? Not a bad idea, all things considered…”

He fumed up at her silently, Sharrya chucking at him, her laughter making her breasts buckle against his shoulders.

“I’m joking, I’m joking. You’re so strung-up, I thought movies were supposed to be relaxing, communal, won’t you allow me to have the full experience? I’ve lost everything else thanks to you…”

Seeing as they were on not-killing terms, he eventually decided to relent, his struggles ceasing to a few annoyed jerks of his legs. The Baroness sensed his change in mood, grinning down at him as she crossed her long legs in front of him, pressing him into her stomach. There was just so much of her on all sides of him, that heat she radiated starting to make him break out a sweat.

“That’s it, good boy,” Sharrya said. “I am much more comfortable than the wall, yes?”

“Much hotter too, I’m boiling up down here.”

“Did you just refer to me as hot? How forward of you...”

“I was referring to your temperature, numbskull.”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it, we just need to spend more time together.”

She settled her hands on his shoulders, pressing the pads of her thumbs into his neck, giving him a massage. He tried to take his mind off her overwhelming presence by focusing on the movie, but it was a tall ask when a literal demon had him in its lap.

Her thighs were like two logs to either side of his waist, the flesh on the insides shaking whenever Sharrya adjusted herself. He could feel the rock-solid abs beneath his back, so defined he could pick out their shape without his eyes. The leather sling she wore to contain her bust rubbed against the back of his head, her weighty breasts gripping his skull like two volley balls. Every time she stretched out her spine (its frequency leading him to believe it wasn’t accidental), they’d slide forward into his peripheral just a little bit, and his heart would pump harder than ever. The damn things were bigger than any human’s.

As the movie continued on, her grip on him went from stifling, to firm, then finally relaxing when Andreas started to get used to her, as she’d put it. At one put she’d even lifted her arms to retrieve their snacks, holding the packet down to him in a silent offer, one he accepted without taking his eyes off the screen.

He should be unsettled, afraid of being in contact with this entity, and a part of him was gripped by these things, but something about Sharrya was overpowering these doubts. Maybe it was the fact she was coming on so strong, and for someone who didn’t get a lot of downtime to go looking for dates, he couldn’t help but find it flattering on some deep level.

Maybe he could use that to his advantage, but not now. His favourite series was on, and he was about to show it to someone who’d never seen movies before, and that kind of excitement put such thoughts aside.

-xXx-

“That’s the conclusion?” Sharrya demanded, shaking her bag of crisps at the screen. “I feel as though my soul has been robbed, whoever made this should be put on trial.”

“We call that a cliffhanger,” Andreas explained. “Keep the loose ends loose, get people excited for the next one. Let me up, gotta stretch my legs.”

He thought she’d might protest, but her cuffed hands rose from his chest, and he stepped out of her lap, vaulting over her leg as though crossing a fallen tree.

Brushing crumbs from his uniform, he stretched his arms over his head, a satisfying crick spiking from the base of his spine. They’d been lazing around the cell for hours, longer than Andreas had planned to visit, but he didn’t mind catching up on his favourite shows. Back on the flotilla, there had been very little time to rest between deployments, and this was his first chance since the invasion he could really kick back and laze about without worrying about orders from the Admiralty.

Eyes on his back brought him out of his thoughts, and he saw from the corner of his eye that Sharrya was staring at him. It was a different look from the usual, more intense if he had to guess.

“Why’re you staring at me all creepily?” he asked, rolling a shoulder.

“I wish to thank you,” she stated, as though she was ordering him around.

“You… what?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“I’ve never had the time nor the reason to just… idle like this,” she said, visibly struggling to find the words. “Demons do not take time off or participate in communal activities. It’s unnatural, but I’ve always relished variation. Exploring foreign cultures has always been a fascination of mine, but as Baroness my capacity to study is… limited, as you could deduce. These movies are an intriguing insight to your species, with the added benefit of being quite entertaining.”

“If you’d like, I could find a documentary or something,” Andreas suggested. “The world’s not quite as dramatic and exciting as what we’ve been watching.”

“It’s been centuries since I last had the chance to study an alien race. Defeat is more of a learning experience than I realised,” she added with a laugh. The grin oozed off her face, leaving her grim and thoughtful. “It’s sad when I think about it. All those species Hell has conquered, all that culture I helped erase. I… wish there had been some way of preserving it all.”

“Alright who are you and what have you done with Sharrya?” Andreas asked. “First you want to thank me, now you’re saying you regret all the things you’ve done?”

Her eyes flicked to his and then back to her feet, her nostrils flexing as she huffed. “Regret? I wouldn’t word it like that. It is more like I am… unsatisfied in Hell. You said Hell was evil, and perhaps in that regard you are correct.”

Her smile reappeared, but she didn’t laugh. “It seems being prisoner has made me repentant! And so quickly, too. Maybe I should escape sooner than I planned.”

Andreas couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but she was right in that being cooped up in here was already taking its toll on her. It was as good a time as ever to prove to Selena and Valeria that there was a method to his madness.

“So why don’t you do something about it?” he asked. “You might be a genocidal maniac, but you know deep down that what you’re doing isn’t right. Hell will chew through every galaxy or universe or whatever the fuck you call it until nothing’s left.”

“The universe is infinite, Andreas, there would never be an end, we would simply march on into forever.”

“But think of all the worlds you’ve fucked over, all that shit you’ve destroyed,” he said, Sharrya cocking her head at him. “You’d have done the same to Earth if we hadn’t fought so hard, all our culture would have been just another thing on top of all the things you’ve burned.”

“Is there a point to this train of thought, or are you simply trying to guilt me into a corner?” Sharrya demanded.

“The point is it doesn’t have to be like this. You’re a Baroness, you’ve got the influence and the backing of thousands of troops. You can turn this endless campaign of yours around, give Hell a taste of its own medicine.”

“You’re… asking me to be… a turncoat?” Sharrya asked. She threw her head back, cackling at the ceiling. “Seriously? I knew you were dense, Seargent, but this is outrageous even for you.”

“Is it?” he asked. “I’ve seen demons fighting each other all the time, so it’s not unheard of, right?”

“Lesser demons brawl out of boredom, you fool, and I am far above such petty squabbling.”

“So you’d rather just stick it out because of your pride? You’d rather stay disgruntled do nothing?”

“You do not understand. If a Baron were to rebel against her masters, every greater demon who catches wind of it won’t see it as insurgency, but as an opportunity. The defying clan would be chewed apart from all sides until nothing remains but ashes. That’s the whole point of us being sent across the Cosmos, to redirect our urges.”

“But you’re at the top of the Baron food chain, aren’t you? You told me you bested every other clan at this Shattered Peaks place, who would try and fight you? And isn’t fighting against the odds your thing anyway?” he asked. “Battling against Hell would be the ultimate test of mettle. And it’s not like you’d be lacking for energy, you said you could consume the souls of demons too, right?”

She began to speak, paused, then tilted her head in consideration. The cell was filled with a thoughtful silence, then Sharrya leaned back against the padded wall, resting her head in her hands.

“If this was any other world, I might have considered your proposition. But for whatever reason the Maykyrs are particularly interested in humanity, more so than any other species we’ve come across. Even I couldn’t hope to stand up to the power of a Maykyr, I’d be doomed along with the rest of mankind.”

“Help me help you, Sharrya,” Andreas said. “As much as I hate your guts, even you don’t deserve to get tested on like some experiment. It wouldn’t sit well with me. I might be able to sway them into going easier on you, but you need to offer something in return.”

“As much as that’s appreciated, going rogue is a too much of an ask, even for you.”

“What about information?” he suggested. “You know how to stop this invasion? Any VIP’s we could target, what are Hell’s weaknesses?”

“Have you tried shooting us? That seems like a pretty big weakness in my experience.”

“Work with me, Sharrya, I’m your best shot on making this easier for you.”

“Your world is marked by gods, Andreas, and they are here to stay until every last sinner has been cleansed. The will of the Khan Maykyrs cannot be fought. Your world has already fallen and you’re too blinded by hope to realise.”

Andreas ran a hand through his dark hair, muttering under his breath. Her words sparked a shred of doubt in his chest, but there had to be a way to stop Hell, didn’t there? Or at least slow it down enough for ARC to come up with a plan.

Sharrya seemed convinced there wasn’t a way out of this. Either that or she was holding out on him, which was a possibility he couldn’t rule out. He wracked his brain, thinking of everything he knew about Hell.

“What about the gore nests?” he asked.

“The nests?” Sharrya asked, blinking. “What of them?”

“You rely on them for your portals, your corruption. They’re your version of satellites, in a sense. Your whole network turned upside down when I blew up that other one.”

“I’d call it more of a nuisance, one I had to handle personally due to the excessive presence of the ignoramus.”

“But you lost control, right? And if you lost two or five or even twenty others, that’d cripple you, wouldn’t it?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. What are you getting at? You don’t know where the rest of the nests are.”

“But you do, Sharrya.”

Understanding bloomed in her eyes, her expression going from shocked to annoyed. “You want me to sabotage my own operation, is that it?”

“Not just yours, every nest you know the location of, and as a Baron I think you have a pretty good idea where they could be. We’d start with Spain first, hit every nest with an artillery shot or something, and every demon in the country is fucked. They’d be sitting ducks that we could hunt at our leisure. All of Spain would be basically free.”

For a long time she considered him, perhaps not really sure if he was being serious or not. Then she rose herself into a sitting position, leaning towards him. She was so massive that even with him standing they were almost eye-level.

“It would never work. They would be replanted in a second, scores of demons will turn their attention to this little backwater. Destroying the gore nests will do nothing but delay the inevitable.”

“You let us worry about that. All you need to do is tell me where they are.”

“And why would I do that?” she asked. “You’re asking me to willingly throw everything I’ve built up away, and if you think I’m going to do that just because you asked, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Andreas wiped his brow, considering everything he knew about Sharrya and what he could give her.

“Your freedom might persuade you,” he said, Sharrya tracking him as he paced the cell. “But the Commander would never go for that. I could try and wrangle you a better cell, or maybe…”

Sharrya reclined once more, turning her eyes to the ceiling.

“But I think I know what is. You give me the location of every gore nest you know, and I’ll… I’ll let you have your way with me.”

Sharrya looked like she’d been hit in the face with a frying pan, her eyes glowing a fresh shade of green as they locked to his own. “You’ll… You’ll what?”

“From the way you’ve been making passes at me, I’d say you don’t meet many bachelors these days, you’re probably pent up to high Hell if you’re dipping outside your species. You can burn all it all off with me. I’ll give you a lay you won’t ever forget.”

Sharrya said nothing, climbing to her feet without breaking eye contact. He tilted his head as she came within inches of his face, his skin pricking at her warm aura.

She broke the silence by falling into a fit of laughter, one she struggled to break. When she did, he thought he saw a tear in her eye, one she wiped away with a claw.

“You always have a way of keeping me guessing, Andreas,” she laughed. “Do you truly realise what you’re offering me? You, a mortal, are offering your body to a demon. Are you sure you’d even survive such an ordeal?”

“I’ve beaten you a couple times now, I reckon I can keep handle a root from a Baron.”

A genuine smile crossed her face, one that was small and bright. He had no idea Sharrya could be so cute when she wanted.

“You’d be committing to the ultimate of Sins,” Sharrya said, chuckling like she had just voiced an in-joke. “Even the Maykyrs would be jealous of such a willing mortal, and it would be all mine to claim…”

“Are you in or not, Sharrya?”

“Oh, I am most certainly all for this. But the question is, are you? Be wary little mortal, once you are mine, there is no going back. You will be the first mortal to have mated with demon, our souls will be linked on the most intimate of levels.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get me to reconsider.”

“You are not as privy to the essence of life and immortal souls as I am, and I respect you enough to give you this one chance. Perhaps you should think on it.”

“You’ll give me the information I want in return, right?”

“I will… consider it. It would all depend on how well you’d perform, of course,” she replied.

“I’ve picked up a few tricks in my time. I think you’ll like this specific part of human culture.”

“Such conviction. If you are truly set on this path, then I’m eager to begin when you are.”

“You’re not going to turn me into a vegetable or something, are you?”

“That all depends on you,” she chuckled. “Your mortal body may be driven mad, but if you have the constitution, as I know you do, you may come out intact, but certainly not unscathed.”

“Then we have a deal,” he said, holding out his hand. Flashing him a sultry wink, she took it, pumping it once.

“Let us not waste time,” she purred her hand sliding up his arm, her claws leaving red welts on his skin. “Ah, but wait,” she added. “This room is rife with cameras, perhaps it would be best if they were disabled before we become most intimate.”

“Oh, right,” he said. “Maybe I can get Selena out of the lab for a while.”

“What about your little robot friend?” Sharrya suggested. “a machine of its complexity could provide assistance, I should think.”

“I’ll give her a call. Wait here.”

“It’s not as though I’m going anywhere,” Sharrya replied as he made for the door. Only now was he aware that his heart was thumping hard, was he really planning on sleeping with a literal demon? It went against every principle he and mankind stood for in this war, but if that was the cost it took to win back this country, it was only right to pay it.

The door clicked shut, he pulled his communicator from his pocket, tapping at the display. The pocket device was half-radio, half-phone, able to send out calls to any other device in the base, Andreas sending a ping to Eva.

It didn’t take long for the hovering drone to fly into the containment block, Eva must have been lingering nearby, expecting trouble.

“Seargent, good to see that going into a confined space with a demon has left you none the worse for wear,” Eva remarked. “How did it go?”

“She’s willing to give us the exact location of every gore nest she knows of.”

“Excellent! Destroying their key infrastructure has proven to be very effective in the war effort. Commander Valeria will be very pleased.”

“Now, there is one slight catch I should mention,” he added, Eva making a go on gesture with a pincer. “In exchange for the intel, I have to sleep with her.”

“…”

“… Eva? Did you hear me?”

“I wish I hadn’t!” she complained. “Don’t tell me you actually agreed to these conditions?”

“Funny you should say that, it was my idea in the first place.”

Her drone visibly sagged, the robotic equivalent of a sigh. “Unbelievable! Seargent you joined this war to kill demons, not mate with them. I should have known all that voyeurism you’ve displayed for that creature would have accumulated to this…”

“There’s another thing,” Andreas added. “the quality of her intel all depends on how well it goes.”

“We’re screwed!” Eva sighed, Andreas folding his arms. “All that effort to get you in there has been for naught. Back to the drawing board, as they say.”

“Hang on,” Andreas said, raising a pointed finger. “what do you mean, we’re screwed? I know plenty of women who’d have a lot to say about my ‘performance’.”

“Point them out, then. Oh that’s right, your last procreative partner left you over a year ago.”

“She was crazy anyway, and she didn’t have any complaints about us in the bed, mind you.”

“You’ve been calling Sharrya a crazy bitch since the start!”

“Sometimes that’s not a bad thing,” he said, putting it in a new light for her sake, as well as his. “And if we want those nests this is the only thing she’s willing to take as compromise.”

“I cannot believe the fate of this country now rests within your ability to become… erect,” Eva sighed, as though the word was making her cringe.

“It’s just sex, Eva, I’ll be in and out before you know it. In more ways than one,” he joked, but Eva was far from amused.

“Perhaps you should get some practice in before you begin the procedure?” she mused, seeing there was no alternative. “I know of several individuals of both sexes in the Rallypoint who have expressed interest in your person, a few you may know by name.”

“There’s no time for practice, I have to do this right now, before she changes her mind.”

“Well what are you waiting for? Get in there and do her. It,” she quickly corrected. “I meant to say it.”

“There’s just one thing,” he said, Eva bobbing in disappointment. “Relax this is different. Sharrya doesn’t want us getting down and dirty with all the cameras on, and I can’t blame her. Think you could turn them off?”

“You want me to disable surveillance on a prisoner now?” she asked, exasperated. “Do you have any idea what kind of security risk that poses?”

“I don’t want this getting out, Eva. First guy to do a porno shoot with a demon is not the legacy I want to leave behind.”

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t go for it, but then she tilted her drone in a nod. “Fine, fine, I can get into the system from the control room, loop some footage, but on one condition.”

“If you want us to sleep together too, you’ll have to wait until after I’m done with Sharrya.”

“Bozo,” Eva snapped, but there was a hint of mirth behind her tone. She told him to stay put, zipping out of the block and disappearing. About two minutes later, she returned, his combat helmet pinched between her grippers.

“Take this with you,” Eva said, thrusting it into his hands. “I want some way to monitor your vitals while you’re in there. If things go awry, if she starts threatening you in any way, I want to know about it.”

“I knew you liked eavesdropping, Eva, but this is uncanny.”

“I’ll put all the helmet sensors in low power mode, and filter out all other sounds except for my name,” she explained. “that way, I don’t have to listen to all the… noise, and should she try anything, you can warn me.”

“I can deal with that, sure,” Andreas said, tucking his helmet under an arm. “Alright, here goes nothing.”

“I’ll let you know when I’ve disabled the cameras,” Eva added. “And good luck. You’ll need it.”

He watched Eva slink back out into the hallway, then turned for the cell. With a sharp breath, he pulled open the mechanism, the door sliding open. A quick glacne through the window proved that Sharrya had pre-emptively waited at the far wall for his return.

“You took your time,” Sharrya said as he stepped through the threshold. “Not having last-second doubts, I hope?”

“Just had a little chat with Eva about the cameras,” he explained. “She shouldn’t be long.”

“I for one, am waiting with bated breath,” she cooed, striding across the cell towards him. There was a tempting roll to her hips, the muscles in her plump thighs flowing with each slow step. She was putting on a show for him, he knew that, but he was no less distracted by the display.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking at his helmet. “I hope you do not plan on wearing that during our deal, I want to look into your eyes while we rut.”

“Eva wants a substitute for the cameras,” he said, suppressing a blush at her sordid words. “If you try anything I’m supposed to call out her name.”

“Like a safeword. How cute.” She bent down, plucking the helmet from his hands, Andreas to slow to get it out of her reach. “There’s only one name you’ll be calling out, Andreas, I’ll see to that.”

She turned, placing the helmet in the far corner along with her discarded armour, her hindquarters rising into the air. That loincloth she wore was just like her sling, just adequate enough to preserve her modesty, but revealing enough to expose the underside of her generous rear.

Sharrya hesitated, then turned the visor slightly towards the corner. Maybe she thought there was a hidden camera in the faceplate, and she wasn’t wrong.

“There. I’ll allow her to listen if she’s so worried, but know that I won’t harm my little partner, machine,” Sharrya said, turning her bright eyes on Andreas. “He’s fragile, but I can make it work.”

“Fragile? Who’s the one who got put in a cell again?”

“Always so resistant. Please keep that up, Andreas, it’s been centuries since someone’s spoken to me with such strength before. Let’s not waste any time, remove your clothes.”

The combination of her overbearing presence and her authoritative tone almost made him do it on instinct, Andreas holding up a hand. “Hang on, Eva hasn’t disabled the cameras yet, just wait a second.”

“Then how about a little appetiser?” Sharrya suggested. “Let us find out if you taste as tough as you look. I want you to kiss me.”

“Kiss you? The deal was we were going to fuck.”

“You said you would, quote: let me have my way with you. That means I get to decide what that entails. Don’t pout, it’s your own fault you did not choose your words better.”

“Damned temptress,” he grumbled.

She walked over, planting a fist against the wall far above him, as though to demonstrate her vast height, Andreas swallowing as he met her gaze.

“Besides, does one simply rush to the main course, without first having a little tease of what’s to come?”

Her hot breath washed over his nose, his heartbeat making his ears pound. She was so big, so overwhelming, and he’d never felt so aware of it before, even when the two of them had fought tooth and nail back in the park. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew…

He reigned these thoughts back in. He’d come out of that park the victor, and this was just another battle he had to go through, though on a far different scale of course.

He rolled his eyes, Sharrya giving him a knowing smirk as she sensed him relent. She made him come to her, Andreas reaching up to cup her chin from below, her flesh warm to the touch.

Her skull was twice the size of a human’s, but she let Andreas guide her closer, her eyes closing as their lips pressed together. She tasted of spice, her full, oversized lips sending tingled down his neck as they mashed with his comparatively cooler mouth. As mismatched as they were, Sharrya tilted her head at just the right angle, locking his lips within her own.

His chest constricted as the tip of her tongue brushed his lips, its texture softer than silk. She batted it against his teeth, silently demanding an entrance, and for the second time his body obeyed without pause, only he didn’t fight it now. A kiss was one thing, but with a tongue it was a whole other level he wasn’t about to cross, but the wires between his brain and his body weren’t working.

His reluctance was melted away beneath her hot organ, her tongue oozing into his mouth like a liquid, brushing at his inner cheeks and throat. His own tongue was burdened by its weight, his poultry muscle struggling to wrestle with this intruder, Sharrya giggling at his efforts. From the size of her, her tongue must be thrice as long as what he could feel, and it felt like she was pouring as much of its length into his mouth as she could.

His jaws bulged with her slick muscle, Sharrya gripping his collar with her free hand, becoming more aggressive with their kiss. His face flushed not just from the bawdy way she was handling him, but also from the heat. Everything about her was like a stove set to max, not reaching that threshold of being burning, but very close to it.

She held him like that until he ran out of breath, then for a few moments longer, breaking off with a wet, salivating smack, Andreas taking in a gulp of warm air. A strong of their combined drool linked their lips, Sharrya reaching up to wipe it away with the back of her hand.

“How I’ve longed to taste your mortal flesh,” she sighed, her eyes taking on a soft quality as she admired his features. “So squishy, but so wonderfully delicious. Give me more…”

She hovered an inch from his mouth, smirking when he waited for another kiss that never came. Instead she moved lower, sinking her teeth into his shoulder in a sudden bite. She didn’t apply enough pressure to break the skin, but he felt her razor fangs pinch him hard, a seed of fear growing in his stomach as she mouthed at the sore left behind.

She used her two upward-facing tusks to nibble at his skin, an unexpectant shock of pleasure rolling through him. He’d been bitten by partners before, but with teeth as big as hers, the sensation was equal parts terrifying and titillating.

“I’ve found a way through to you,” Sharrya cooed, her eyes flicking to his even though she lacked iris’. “Flames, claws, bullets, you can shrug all that off, but it seems a soft approach leaves you exposed.”

“E-Enjoy your fifteen minutes, idiot,” he said, struggling to compose himself. “Might help you forget I defeated you and your army yesterday.”

“It has been so long since someone’s had the nerve to address me like you have,” she replied. “Maybe you do have the strength to survive a night with a demon. Maybe,” she reiterated.

“Wait, tell me something,” Andreas said. “Before, you said centuries had passed, so just how old are you?”

Sharrya paused in her love-biting, poising below his chin as she thought.

“Hmm. How many hours in one of your days?”

“Twenty-four. And there’s three hundred and sixty-five days in a year.”

“That would make me… a little over three hundred of your standard years.”

“Three hundred?” he echoed. “Talk about being a MILF.”

“A what?”

Andreas opened his mouth to explain, when a single beep filled the room, the two turning towards its source. The mounted flashlight on his helmet flicked on, Eva’s tinny voice reaching out from the speakers.

“I’ve taken care of the cameras, but I’d ask that you conclude your… business in a timely manner, please. Someone’s bound to come check on one of you eventually.”

“We will take as long as I deem it necessary, robot,” Sharrya replied, turning her glowing eyes on the helmet. “Our love must be nurtured, savoured, if either of you want the information I have.”

“Whatever,” Eva replied uncomfortably. “You just keep those claws off the Seargent, if I see so much as a scratch on him, you’re finished.”

“You’re like a mother hen to my human,” Sharrya chuckled. “Perhaps you would like to come here personally and keep watch? I don’t fancy an audience, but if he means so much to you I could be persuaded to make an exception.”

“A-As if I would subject my sensors to… to biological mating!”

“But you’re the one who wanted that helmet in here with us, true? Something tells me you wouldn’t find the prospect intriguing, assuming you haven’t been spying on us already.”

“I have to go, someone’s asking me for… something,” Eva said, and then there was no more, the helmet’s speakers cutting off. Sharrya turned to Andreas, the Seargent shrugging up at her.

“What a strange sidekick you have. Now where were we? Oh yes.”

Sharrya grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him against the wall as she brought her lips to his. Her kisses were so raw and impassioned, Andreas going light-headed as she shoved her tongue down his throat. Her tusks pinched his skin when he tilted his head to reciprocate, but the pain was an afterthought compared to her ravenous attentions.

Her claws plucked at his biceps, Sharrya feeling his muscles through the jumpsuit he wore. Sharrya’s long fingers moved over his neck, tugging on his collar. She put him in a daze with her hungry kiss, but he was snapped out of it when the sound of tearing fabric filled the room.

“Hey! Don’t rip my uniform you asshole,” Andreas snapped, their lips smacking as he separated from her, grabbing at her oversized fingers. He could just barely wrap his palm around a single digit.

“I’ve wanted to rip your clothes off for a long time, and that is exactly what I’ll do,” Sharrya cooed. “Unless, of course, we no longer have a deal?”

“Just let me do it, will you? How am I going to explain this to requisitions?”

“That’s your problem,” she replied, but she had the decency to let him roll up the sleeves, the Baroness practialy ripping his shirt over his head. She tossed it over her shoulder, then turned her attention to his exposed torso.

Life as special forces was demanding, and Andreas didn’t skimp out on keeping himself in top shape. He was heavily developed, with broad shoulders and muscles packed tightly together beneath his tanned skin, but even he didn’t hold a candle to a Baron. If Sharrya was disappointed in his bodyplan, then she didn’t show it, her lips curling as she admired him.

A touch of self-consciousness ran up his spine as she drank him in with her eyes for a solid minute, the silence only broken by his slightly rasping breathing. She hadn’t quite left him panting, but his heart was thumping harder than he would have liked to admit.

“So familiar, yet so alien and strange,” Sharrya mused, her head lowering to his chest. “Another commonality between Hell and Earth…”

“What am I, an art exhib… exhibit?”

When he tried to say exhibit, Sharrya’s lips sealed over his left nipple, pecking it with a kiss. The planted one on the other, the act sending butterfly ripples through him.

She worked her way down to his belly, alternating between soft pecks with her lips and tough bites with her tusks, the blend of pain and pleasure messing with his head. Her restrained hands remained on his shoulders all the while, Andreas sliding down the wall as she eased him lower. It was obvious she wanted him on his back, and even if he wanted to resist her (a growing part of him didn’t), he wasn’t strong enough to stay on his feet, his butt compressing against the ground.

“Good boy,” she said, kneeling between his legs, her breath warming his lap. “You just relax while I fulfill some… curiosities of mine.”

“This whole human thing you’ve got going on is crazy,” he said. “Do you get pervy with every alien you come across?”

“I’ve admired several other species before, but you’re the first to really capture me. Plus there is something to be said about your species. You are so small, so soft,” she said enunciating her point by running a claw down his ribs. “and with souls packed with mortal energy. You are like a toy I can have my way with.”

“And you’re like a dominatrix,” he rebutted, but the words sounded weak to his ears.

“I know not what that is, but I’ll assume it’s something about being controlled, dominated. It’s not so bad to resist me, Andreas, allow me to show you why…”

Her trailing hands reached his belt, her fingers slipping beneath his waistband. He complained again when she used her claws to slice the buckle off rather than undo it properly, his pants not escaping the same fate as she ripped open his fly, the zipper shooting into the air.

She tugged his pants down, exposing his briefs, her eyes lighting up at the noticeable bulge in his groin. “Ah ha,” Sharrya announed. “you’re playing the lying reluctant angle, aren’t you? That’s not an accusation, by the way, I so love it when you try to resist me.”

He grunted as she pressed her round thigh into his crotch, her flesh spilling over him like memory foam. She began making slow, up-and-down motions with her leg, the pressure causing Andreas to suck in a gasp. She was shoving him into the wall, putting her substantial bulk over his legs, Andreas feeling his ability to move slipping.

“You like my legs, don’t you?” Sharrya asked, keeping her thigh stroking in slow, circular motions. “I’ve seen you admire them, perhaps you’ve been looking forward to getting this close to them. You can touch them, you know.”

The fur covering from her waist down looked like the softest wool he’d ever seen, each brown strand conforming to her plump legs like a second skin, the illusion only shattered when she rubbed her flesh against his. It looked softer than a mink coat, Andreas almost reaching out to test their texture before he suppressed the urge.

“I’ll pass,” he muttered, Sharrya pouting.

“Must you be so prude? Humans touch each other when making love, don’t they? You want to touch me, Andreas, I can see it in your eyes.”

“This is a deal exchange, we’re not making love,” he replied, averting his gaze.

“Then I shall have to pick up the slack,” Sharrya said, her arms pathing down his torso, only the tips of her claws making contact. One of her hands grabbed him by the hip, the other delving below his waistband. Andreas winced when her fingers found his shaft, which was already masting thanks to her thigh, Sharrya shifting herself so she laid on his immediate left, one leg crossed over both of his.

Her smooth fingers wrapped around his cock, and Andreas yelped in alarm, remembering how scorching her raw skin was. He felt as though she’d just gripped him with a pair of tongs left in hot water. His skin wasn’t scorching, however, although it went very red very quickly.

“Geez, Sharray, run your hands under cold water or something,” he complained.

“I’ve tried, believe me,” she replied. “but the fires of Hell have made a lasting impression on me. It was difficult to get myself off the first few times, but I grew used to the heat. Just as you will, Andreas, I’ll see to that.”

Her grip firm, she began to slide her fingers up his shaft, pausing at his glans to give them an experimental prod. She figured out how sensitive they were thanks to the little noises he made, her poked turning to soothing strokes that left him disappointingly eager for more. He thought they’d just go at it a few rounds and be done with it, but she was killing him with the foreplay, and he wondered what the point of it was.

The demon slid down to his base, locking her forefinger and thumb in a ring of pressure that sent an electric jolt through his core. Her other digits creeped towards his sack, Sharrya’s eyes locking to them as she weighed them in her palm, giving him a testing squeeze.

“H-Hold on,” he whispered. “don’t crush my balls, Sharrya, or the deal’s off.”

She giggled at him. “That was an adorable little stutter, Andreas. Take away all your gear and armour, and you’re as fragile as a newborn…”

She dragged the flat of her tongue up her palm, giving Andreas a sultry look as she did. Her spit added a delightful layer of lubricant as she placed her hand on his crotch, pumping him with her hot hand. The restraints made it so she could only grab onto his thigh for support, Sharrya grumbling as she tested the limits of her range of motion.

Andreas slacked his neck, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling as pleasure coursed through his body. The demonic heat she emitted was making him sweat and irritated, but there was something to be said for it, the added sensation making him hyperactive, dialling up his senses to the max.

The minutes were blissful as Sharrya milked his shaft, adding just the right amount of pressure when she neared his base, then relieving it when she moved up to his glans. He could feel his climax creeping up on him like a bad thought, his spine arching as though his body demanded her to have more access.

“If only I did not have these shackles,” Sharrya mused, slowing herself down, as though she’d sensed him reaching his limits. “I could finally get all of my claws on you, show you how demons really make love.”

“Nice try,” Andreas replied, his voice breathless. “but the cuffs stay on.”

“I don’t think you realise what you’re denying,” Sharrya replied, leaning in until their noses touched. “I’ve put you on your back with just one hand, imagine what I could do with two,” she added, pumping him especially hard for emphasis. He couldn’t suppress the following grunt, Sharrya laughing as she saw his frustration.

“What would be the harm?” she pressed. “I am not getting out of this cell, restrained or otherwise, and it’s not as though they’re keeping me from touching you.” She grazed his cheek with her tongue, whispering into his ear: “I have centuries of experience, Andreas, far more than any of your prissy females. I can show you everything and more, you just have to let me.”

His heart skipped a beat, Andreas trying to look away, but Sharrya’s closeness made that impossible. The way her green eyes filled his vision made him feel like she was staring into his very soul – which was probably something she could do.

Releasing Sharrya didn’t sit right with him, but the cuffs were pretty much a formality at this point, the only person they were hampering was him, right? Eva would be screaming with rage that he was even considering her offer, and perhaps she’d be right to do so, but his monkey brain was just too persuasive to resist.

Sharrya released his cock, leaving his shaft sticky and bouncing in disappointment as she raised her arms to his chest, like she’d already known his decision before Andreas had made it. He turned her arms over to access the numeric keypad built on the top face of the shackles that controlled the electric locks. Since he’d put them on her, he knew the code, and after entering a string of numbers, their was an electrical hum, and the restraints split in two.

“I’m going to regret this,” Andreas said, Sharrya placing the cuffs aside and rubbing her wrists.

“Probably,” Sharrya agreed. “but allow me to distract you from your troubles…”

Her hand slid down his chest, his abdominals flexing at her touch. She wasted no time in returning her fingers to his rod, seizing him in both her palms. Her digits formed what felt like countless rings around his shaft, each one flexing with a slightly different amount of pressure. She wrenched her hands in opposing directions, the motion reminding him of how one rings out a cloth, Andreas shutting his eyes as a burst of raw pleasure shocked him.

He hadn’t been boasting when he’d told Eva his exes hadn’t complained about his skills as a partner, and he couldn’t remember being this sensitive before. Outside of a few rare cases it was him that had always taken the lead, and having that flipped back on him was driving him up the wall.

Closing his eyelids blocked some of the stimulation, but not very well, Andreas biting back a groan as Sharrya subjected him to her ruthless pumping. “I’ll give you that one,” he muttered. “Two is better than one.”

“You see?” she cooed. “Sometimes resistance isn’t as rewarding as the alternative…”

He felt one of her hands leave his shaft, her other taking up the slack in its absence. With his mind so focused on her handjob he didn’t even notice her fingers sneaking into his palm until moments later, her claws interlocking with his digits as she moved his hand to his chest. If he’d been told days ago he’d be holding hands with Sharrya he’d have called that person crazy, but being held like that wasn’t as bad as it should have been.

She placed his hand on his chest, then took hold of his other, bringing them together. He was about to ask her what she was doing, but he was cut off as a whirring noise rose to his ears, and a tightness sealed over his wrists.

His eyes flew open, and when he turned his gaze down, he saw the restraints had locked his hands together, Sharrya smirking at him as she lifted her hand away. He’d been so focused on her attentions he hadn’t even noticed she’d picked up the cuffs, his chest surging with panic.

“Sh-Sharrya? What are you doing?” he asked, even though it was obvious.

“I told you you would be mine one day,” Sharrya replied. “and now I finally have you secured.”

He tried to slip free of the shackles, but the rings were too narrow to slip his hands through. Cursing, he tried to stand, but Sharrya pinned him with her claws, swinging a leg over his waist and putting her weight on his legs. She didn’t crush him, but put just enough weight on him that he couldn’t move.

“I knew I would regret this,” he muttered. “This was your plan, huh? Talk about playing the fucking long game.”

“I’ve merely taken advantage of the situation, there is no long game,” Sharrya laughed. “You’re right to be suspicious, of course. Taking you prisoner would be the ultimate irony.”

“I’ll call Eva,” he warned.

“Why cut our fun short?” she asked. “You said you’re not going to touch me, therefore you do not need your arms. Our bargain still stands regardless.”

“I never agreed to be tied up,” he complained, Sharrya raising his arms above his head, and pinning them to the wall. The restraints were so heavy that when she let go, he didn’t have the strength to keep them raised, his arms falling behind his head.

“I am altering the deal,” Sharrya replied with a dismissive shrug.

“And I should pray you don’t alter it any further?” he prompted.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s a line from an old movie, don’t worry about it.”

“You just love your movies, don’t you,” she chuckled. “Perhaps we should watch one while we consummate our bond.”

Andreas darted to the television in consideration, Sharrya chuckling at him.

“Ah, but then you wouldn’t give me your full attention, and I don’t want you distracted for what I am about to do.”

She crawled down his body, her shapely breasts rubbing along his torso like two water balloons. Although he was immobilised, he was sure by now that Sharrya didn’t wish to kill him, although that did little to quell the alarm inside his stomach. Being at the mercy of a demon would do that to even the bravest of humans.

Her palms settled on his knees as her snout came level with his groin, his legs disappearing beneath her nine-foot frame. She pursed her lips, blowing hot breath on his glans, giving him one of those stares that sent his heart fluttering.

“My mouth is far too good for your mortal flesh,” Sharrya said. “But I can think of a far better substitute.”

She reached down to her sling, gripping the underside of her makeshift bra. She peeled the leather fabric away, pausing with an enticing layer of underboob exposed, making sure Andreas was watching. The sling was straining against her bosom, making him wonder how it managed to contain her assets in the first place.

She raised it higher, two pink nipples coming into view, gravity forcing the rest of her boobs to spill free. They were bigger than volleyballs, the same shade of deep red like the rest of her. They squashed against his knees as she settled below his waist, Andreas feeling their softness through the fabric of his pants. They were as supple as jelly, and he felt the sudden urge to reach down to touch them, but his restraints put a halt to such impulses.

“My eyes are up here, Andreas,” Sharrya chuckled. “I see that even in this part of the Cosmos, males find them infatuating.”

“That’s cause they’re bigger than my fucking head, asshole,” he shot back. “How you haven’t done in your back is anyone’s guess.”

Her laughter made his chest shake, the demon moving down until her breasts were suspended over his lap. She gripped her boobs in her hands, her flesh spilling between her digits, spreading her cleavage wide.

She brought her chest down, Andreas eliciting a grunt as his member was consumed between the orbs of fat, Sharrya closing her cleavage together from either side. Like the rest of her skin, she was hot to the touch, but far softer than he would have believed, grazing his rod with all the delicacy of gelatine.

Andreas couldn’t see his cock, Sharrya’s breasts large enough to obscure it within its heated confines. Her assets conformed tightly to his genitals, conforming to his shape like a heavenly mould.

His mind was convinced it had been plunged into the heated loins of a lover, Andreas’ hips lifting in a desperate thrust. Her firm flesh quivered with the impact, their heavy weight meaning Sharrya barely moved an inch.

“Look at you squirm,” Sharrya cooed, rewarding him by squeezing her chest with her biceps, her flesh constricting around him. “Even in defeat I am capable of outmatching you.”

Sharrya bundled her chest in her arms, raising it up, then letting it fall down with a loud clap of flesh. It felt like an anvil had landed in his lap, Andreas lurching as he was assaulted by blissful tightness from all sides.

He strained against the cuffs as Sharrya began to rub her chest against him, pushing one forward while pulling the other back, alternating their directions to keep him guessing. It felt like she was crushing his member, but in a good way, his legs bucking against her stomach as he writhed on the floor, a notion that seemed to amuse the demoness without pause.

“Is my infernal heat too much for you to bear?” Sharrya asked, noting the beads of sweat on his brow. “Perhaps I know of a way to cool you down.”

Andreas watched as Sharrya turned her gaze to his member, licking her lips like a hungry wolf. He tracked a bead of her spit drooping from her tongue, the fluid landing on the top of her cleavage. He felt the cool strand touch his glans shortly after it disappeared, Sharrya opening her mouth wide to let more cascade between her boobs. It wasn’t long before her drool created a bubbling seal around his cock, its cool texture colliding with the exuberant heat coming off her.

Now each time she manoeuvred her chest, a wet squelching noise followed, the added lubricant making him slide against her delicate skin. Grinning, she wrapped an arm over his hips, copping a handful of his bum as she pulled him deeper.

From there she found a slow, heavy pace, switching between bouncing on his lap and swirling her flesh around him, Andreas forgetting where and who he was as he leaned back, relaxing into the blissful sensations. But couldn’t stop bucking up into her, but with all the restraints on his limbs, it was the only thing he could do in this compromising position.

Being shackled was like being hooked up to an electrical current, his frustration at being unable to move only matched by the new heights of pleasure he was reaching. So much stimulation was happening at once that his mind couldn’t keep tabs on it all.

“I take back what I said,” Sharrya suddenly said. “I wish to test your limits, Andreas. I’d tell you to hold on, but in your condition…”

She let her sentence linger, and just when he thought she’d finish it, she leaned down, and pushed her chest lower, his sensitive glans popping free of her bust. Sharrya wasted no time in sealing her pillowy lips around his foreskin, her tusks brushing his pubic hair. His eyes rolled back as her soft tongue lashed his flesh with quick flurries, her movements similar to when she had subjected him to that overpowering kiss.

The Baroness bent lower, taking his glans into her mouth, sliding down until half his length was sealed within her mouth. Her lips tightened in a ring, her tongue snaking out to constrict his head in a vice of soft flesh. Her breasts provided no resistance to her plunging snout, Sharrya keeping a tight hold on them as she lapped at the underside of his cock like she was licking a popsicle.

All Andreas could do was writhe below her bulk, and even then her weight made that difficult, the Seargent loosing a moan he had never made before in his life. Sharrya was just as startled, quirking a brow at him from above his crotch, her questioning look making him blush.

She began to cackle around his length, her deep, feminine voice working into what felt like every bone in his body. She resumed clapping her breasts over him again, simulating the feeling of a bouncing vagina, her tongue continuing to swirl and lap. It was too many sensations all at once, Andreas would go crazy if she kept his up for any longer.

“I may have to start calling you morsel again,” Sharrya laughed, pausing between licks to speak. “I want you to come for me, sweet Andreas, I wish to taste the essence of your offspring.”

He could feel his climax working its way to the forefront of his frazzled mind, Andreas too overwhelmed by it all to resist it. As much as he felt like he was being driven mad, there was a loud voice in his head pleading that this pleasure would never end, and he very nearly voiced this plea to Sharrya, but he stopped himself. That would be basically admitting defeat to her little game, and he’d die before letting that happen.

His oncoming orgasm first lingered, then flashed forward, Andreas tensing in preparation. Sharrya licked, twisted her bosom, bounced on his lap, but her eyes, those two glowing green fires never left his face, and they were so full of a controlling energy that they seemed to draw him in. Her gaze was full of hunger, but he swore he could see affection there. Why was that? Why was she giving him such glorious head and enjoying it, when the deal was to satisfy her needs? Maybe she really was trying to be his lover, and the doubt he felt in response to that disturbed him in its uncertainty.

All the muscles in his waist tensed, his hips pushing forward as though the bosom enveloping him was as welcoming as a womb, his length throbbing against her flesh. Sharrya’s eyes widened in alarm as the first wad of his ejaculate surged forth, splattering a rope of the pearly fluid across her snout.

She seemed to know what was happening, Sharrya compressing her tits tighter, and returning her soft lips to his glans. The next rope of his seed splashed against the roof of her mouth, all the soft, surrounding tightness seeming to force out his next emission. He contorted impotently against the floor as waves of euphoria reduced him to a panting mess.

Sharrya swallowed around him, over and over as if she had no lung capacity, the suction milking out another rope and another harsh pang of pleasure. It just wouldn’t stop. Each time his nerves dialled down, Sharrya would summon up another rope, filling the cell with her swallowing as she drank down everything he could give her.

What felt like hours passed before his dazing vision began to clear, and his erection jumped one last time, leaving him sore and satisfied. He looked down to see Sharrya smirking around his dick, beads of her spit and his fluids dripping down her chin to leave a mess on her cleavage.

“Such raw energy,” Sharrya moaned, a carnal look on her face as she wet her lips, using its long length to clean her features. “I feel as though I have feasted on a dozen souls…”

Making sure he was looking, she released her hold on her breasts, the orbs returning to their natural pert, teardrop shape. The inner sides were matted with his come, ropes of it bridging the two together, one breaking to fall to his belly.

“A little bit of tongue, and you’re on your back, panting,” Sharrya mused. “So easy.”

He watched her long tongue snake down, beginning to clean up his essence from her chest. She was like a drowning woman licking at droplets of dew, Andreas sensing a kind of desperation as she lapped up his essence, as she called it.

“If only I had done this to you earlier,” she mused, smacking her lips and releasing a refreshed ‘ah’. “Victory would surely have been mine.”

“B-But it’s not,” he breathed, trying to regain his senses. “You’re still a prisoner to us lowly mortals, that hasn’t changed.”

“Are you so sure about that? I could do anything I want with you right now, and you’d be hopeless to stop me.”

Her hindquarters rose up as she moved away a little, his length bouncing against her snout as she rested her chin on his thigh. She reached out, seizing him in her burning hand, his receding erection jumping in response.

“Maybe I should make you come in my hand next,” she mused, and despite having just climaxed, after a few pumps of her hand, he was already masting. “Have your essence link my fingers, over and over until you went mad with the pleasure. The great Seargent Andreas, reduced to a slave of my claws. And you’d enjoy every moment of it.”

Her gyrating hand slowed, Sharrya huffing like a bull.

“But devouring you like that would be boring, as well as detrimental. I have grown tired of slaves, although I won’t deny how satisfying it is in seeing you struggle.”

“Gloat all you want, I still beat you on the field.”

“And are victors decided by who strikes the first blow? Cling to the past all you want, Andreas, but you’re the one who has finished first.”

“If I wasn’t in these cuffs, that’d be a different story.”

“Oh?” she asked, shimmying up his body, resting her knees beneath his armpits as she mounted him. Her loincloth draped over his thighs, her hidden genitals coming tantalisingly close to his. “How bold. You think you can satisfy me?”

“That’s up to you to find out.”

She considered him for a long moment. “You will touch me, correct?” she asked, anticipation swimming in her eyes.

“Yeah, whatever,” he said, trying to sound less pleading than he really felt. “just let me out of these things.”

She giggled like a kid on Christmas morning, struggling to contain her excitement as she reached for his restraints, Andreas liking that expression on her. She bent over him, her breasts dangling over his face as she grabbed his wrists, bringing her claw to the keypad.

“Code,” she said, and he told her. The shackles popped open, relief surging inside him as blood flow returned to his digits. Once more she placed the restraints aside, coincidentally leaving them within arms-reach. Andreas pushed them away with his foot, Sharrya putting a claw to her lips and giggling mischievously.

“What’s the matter? You looked good in chains,” she said. “All panting and red-faced. One would think you liked being- Ah!”

He had wasted no time in bringing his hands to her chest in an audible clap of flesh, the gentle flesh of her breasts quivering beneath his fingers. He tried to gather them up in his palms, but they were so voluminous that they just spilt out of his grip, deforming around his hands like dough.

Her gasp tapered into a moan, then settled into a growl as she pinched her eyes shut. “Fool,” she breathed. “don’t be so harsh with them!”

“Who’s panting now, huh?” he shot back, Sharrya still holding her eyes shut, which might have been on purpose. His biceps flexed as he tried to lift one up, its weight rivalling that of a lead ball. He resorted to kneading them, the way her bosom jiggled with rippled, always bouncing back into their perfect shape, their very size – all of it combined to kindle a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He kept telling himself, as he groped and played with her chest, that it was for the good of mankind, that this was just a means to get information out of her and nothing more, ye the fact he was enjoying himself was becoming harder to deny than ever.

Despite her warning, he worked her chest with a renewed dedication, her soft flesh melting around his hands. He was being rough, far rougher than he would have been with a human woman, but if Sharrya could take a particle cannon to the face and live, she could handle some roughhousing.

It was the demon’s turn to make embarrassing noises, her growls and mewls reaching his ears, despite her attempts at biting them back.

He surprised her (and himself) by placing his tongue between her breasts, the taste of her sweat burning his tastebuds. He dragged it down to the left, outlining her bosom with a wet smear, Sharrya experiencing a minute shiver. He slowly rotated up towards her nipple, the pink protrusion a shade lighter than the rest of her fiery hide. He kneaded her other breast as he drew closer to it, placing a gentle kiss upon it.

“I knew you liked them,” she chuckled, but her confidence faltered when he sealed his lips around her nipple, biting down on it. She pushed her bust out in invitation, her hands sneaking round his neck to hold him closer.

He clamped down his jaw, deepening his bite, his roughness rewarded by another high-pitched moan from the demon. He knew he couldn’t hurt her with his dull teeth, her demonic nature meaning he could push boundaries that wouldn’t be possible with a human.

She chewed down until he felt his teeth leave little furrows, then relented by lashing out with his tongue, suckling on her nipples, the colliding sensations making Sharrya wriggle over him.

“Oh!” she breathed, pinching her other nipple as he continued to mouth and lick. “It seems you’re not so d-discouraged by my looks after all. Oh, like that. Yes…”

He wanted to get a word in, taunt her about how she was now the one making the little noises, but having a mouthful of her perfect chest made that impossible. This wasn’t him trying to please her, of course, this was just him paying her back, make sure she was satisfied by this deal of theirs. Anything for the mission…

He made to resurface for air, Sharrya pinning him down for a few moments longer before allowing it, the demon flicking a carnal grin his way.

“Here I was thinking you had a sharp tongue,” she cooed. “but you can be oh so delicate when you want to.”

“Why don’t you get on your back, and you’ll see how delicate I can be.”

“My back?” she echoed. “I am Baroness of the Shattered Peaks, to lay back is to admit weakness, defeat.”

“If you can’t handle a bit of mortal foreplay, that’s your call,” he said, feigning disinterest.

“Given these…. special circumstances, perhaps I can overlook such a transgression,” she replied, meeting his look with a challenging grin.

The tension on his body lifted as Sharrya rolled away, tucking her elbows into the nook where the floor meets the wall, propping herself up. From this angle she was so long, almost taking up half the cell’s length from hooves to horns.

He approached her like a rider coming up on a wild horse, shuffling over on his knees. They were past hostilities by this point, but he still felt the need to tread lightly nevertheless. Andreas admired the way her flat stomach transitioned into her flared hips, her voluptuous profile as curvy as a meadow ridgeline.

Andreas mounted her leg like it was a fallen log, fingers sinking up the knuckle into her downy fur. The luscious coat was far less course than it looked, the strands blooming across her strong legs in all directions at once, its texture rivalling cotton. Perhaps they didn’t have combs in Hell, giving her an untamed, wild look, which wasn’t bad in his book.

His hands couldn’t resist running up and down her thigh, taking in the fur’s silky touch. It was insulating him from the infernal heat coming off her, allowing him to appreciate her even further, his secret desire to touch her getting the better of him.

“I see you waste no time running your hands over me,” Sharrya mused from seemingly far away. “Not that I don’t understand why. You may be the first mortal ever to get a chance to do so to a Baroness. Savour it, savour me.”

Blushing that she’d called him out, he continued over her leg, depositing himself before her lap. Her legs ran along either side of him like atomic warheads, enveloping him in heat and flesh, her knees slightly bent upwards.

“Come,” Sharrya cooed, a hand falling to her nethers and patting in invitation. “Let us consummate our love.”

She must have thought his request was his way of asking to bring things along to their conclusion, but Andreas thought otherwise. The quick climax she’d brought him to had left him spent, he needed time to recuperate. Plus, giving Sharrya a taste of her own medicine wouldn’t hurt either.

He resisted looking to her nether regions, turning his eyes instead to her thighs. They rivalled his torso in terms of size, and when he snaked his arm around one, his cocked elbow couldn’t even form a full loop, her meaty flesh bulging beneath his limb. He couldn’t help but bring his cheek to her downy fur, curling his head to plant a kiss on her inner thigh. Although not quite as soft as her chest, the fur made up for that in droves, and the muscles beneath the coat formed a pleasing barrier of toughness that rose up to meet his questing fingers.

Humans were sensitive on the inner thighs, and it seemed Barons were too, Sharrya taking in a shaky breath as he fought through her fur to her skin, his breath making her fur pull and push in regular strokes. He moved to the other leg, gripping her from below the knee to ply at her sensitive skin, Sharrya helping him along by raising her leg and allowing him access.

“That tickles!” Sharrya laughed when he introduced his tongue, though it was more sultry than humorous. Andreas responded by doubling down, lashing through her coat and getting at the skin beneath. It was almost pink, he saw, as raw as the forgotten side of a tan line. “You devious little mortal,” she growled. “Must your tongue be so soft?”

“You said I was easy, but you should look in the mirror,” he said, Sharrya breathing hard as she met his gaze, her wobbling chest distracting him. “Sharrya of Shattered Peaks, made into a mess by a lowly human’s mouth in two seconds flat.”

“I am allowing you to do this,” she snapped. “I could put you back in those chains just like that.”

“Do it, then,” he said. She made to say something, but he kissed her thigh again, and whatever it was drowned out beneath a mewling grumble. She was enjoying every second of this, and her attempts at denial were really firing him up.

She seemed unusually receptive down here, her hooves scraping along the floor behind him as his mouthing sent shocks down her body. Maybe Baron’s didn’t get so touchy-feely when they got it on, an image he never imagined himself trying to picture.

Soon enough, he brought his attentions upward, his hands wandering up to her waist next. He settled one palm on her hip, admiring its flared shape for a moment, then skirted her mound with the other. Her fur ended in a rough line here, giving her the appearance that she had a carpet of woolly pubic hair.

He palmed the place her entrance should have been, but felt no blemished in her fur, going over it again with his brow creased. Sharrya cooed happily as he explored, but eventually she realised what he was trying to do, her voice reaching him in a whisper.

“A little lower. Here.”

She took his hand into her own, guiding him towards a spot between her legs. She plunged her claws into her coat, Andreas watching as she used her index and them to part the coat, revealing a flush set of lips. He half-expected her to have far more alien anatomy, but there was nothing out of the ordinary here, save that the size of her lips was a little larger than what he was used to seeing. That had to be expected given she was skirting ten feet.

Her coat walled her labia with a furry perimeter, leaving her lips smooth and very red, the skin here returning to her usual hue. Holding her fur apart with one hand, he guided his head closer, his cheeks tickled by the strands. If he thought she was giving off heat before, she was practically boiling down here, her nethers like an oven he’d just stuck his head into.

He planted a single, doting kiss on her entrance, his lips flush with hers. A growl built up in the Baroness’ throat, her hips swaying from side to side. He held himself there to make her think he’d give another, but then pulled away, his nose skirting her mound as he pecked at her washboard stomach next.

The line of her coat ended here, giving way to a flat stomach that would put even the most hardcore bodybuilder to shame. The bottom set of her abs were liked two stones carved from obsidian, with defined dimples and sculpted with veins. The twin rows travelled up her body like rivers of liquid muscle, carving channels that could fit the tip of his fingers perfectly.

He kissed her between her momentous six-pack, another on her sternum, then on her nipples, their genitals lining up for a scant second before he pulled a knee onto her belly for balance.

“How do I fare to a mortal woman?” Sharrya asked, closed eyes parting just enough so she could watch him work. “Demons are harbingers of power, destruction, death, but that makes me all the more alluring to you, doesn’t it? Fear and desire go hand-in-hand, after all…”

His hand creeped towards her nethers, Andreas caressing the finer strands of fur ringing her opening. A bead of her juices wet his fingertips, the demoness dripping with desire. Not one to waste time, Andreas pressed his index greedily into the cleft of muscle, grimacing as her anticipation literally cooked his fingertip. She always seemed to get even hotter with each next part of her body he explored, and it never ceased to catch him off guard. He remembered someone telling him that his fingerprint layer was only a millimetre deep, and Sharrya would burn it off if he wasn’t careful.

He pressed his digit in up to the first knuckle, Sharrya throwing her head back and snorting like a bull in heat, the comparison helped along by her upswept horns. Two opposing walls of muscle viced around him, softer than the legs he was currently resting on. Plunging onto the second knuckle, her walls became sopping wet, though they still kept a deathly grip on him.

Andreas’ heart began to beat faster as a maw of bristles glanced his digit, the texture of her passage shifting as he drew into the beginnings of her tunnel. His mind’s eye conjured up images of thumb-sized tongues, travelling down her shrinking depths in concentric rings. Like moths to light, they seemed drawn to this foreign intruder, his digit soon lost in a nest of pliant, stroking muscles.

He curled his finger and found it took an effort, Sharrya’s passage clamping down on him as he glanced her most sensitive flesh. Seeing the demon scrunch up her eyes was very satisfying. She was swinging her hips, trying to keep in time with his stroking finger, a demonic growl that would have been intimidating under different circumstances building in her throat.

“You’re shivering like this is your first time or something,” Andreas pointed out. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Be quiet,” she muttered. “Baron’s cannot do such… eccentric things with their claws.”

“Eccentric, like this?” he asked, introducing another finger. Her exaggerated portions meant there was plenty of room, though that wasn’t to say she was loose. Her powerful core made her far tighter than appearances would convey, and he couldn’t piston his fingers without considerable effort.

“Yes!” Sharrya growled, her voice cracking.

“Sounds like mortal’s have a one up on you,” he added, leaning down to kiss her pillowy thigh.

“There is something to be said for such meekness,” Sharrya said. “You can get into all the right places easily.”

“The only one meek here is you,” he said, curling his fingers and getting her to croon again. She averted her eyes, refusing to talk back. Although her cheeks were permanently red, he could tell how flustered she was, the emotions hidden behind a veil of denial. Sharrya could be pretty cute when she wasn’t being a genocidal warlord.

He couldn’t quell his urge to bring his lips to her mound pecking her dangerously close to her lips. His mouth was scorched by this point, but he didn’t care, the prospect of bringing her to climax outweighing his apprehension. This was all for the deal, of course, he had to make her feel good purely for the sake of saving the country – that’s what he kept telling himself.

Sharrya watched him intensely as he glanced her nethers, orbiting her delicate labia with his tongue, a sultry moan reaching his ears as he covered those lips with his in an uninhibited kiss. Her fur tickled his nose as he plunged deeper, Sharrya meeting it by raising her hips off the floor. The fatty layers of her thighs squashed around his shoulders as she tensed, her body circling in time with his twitching fingers.

Her taste was like spiced cider, the liquid dripping to his chin as her liquid excitement rose up to meet his questing tongue, his cock experiencing a jealous twitch. She was so receptive, always moving one way or the other, her claws digging into the cold tiles as she struggled to keep her hands still, Andreas going wide-eyed as her claws dug inches into the concrete.

“Please,” Sharrya whined. “Please, like that. Oh by the Maykyrs….”

Andreas rose from her crotch like a diver surfacing for air, giving her an odd look. “Hold on, did the great Sharrya just say please? Has Hell frozen over as well?”

“Silence, mortal,” she grumbled, and reached down a hand. She took hold of his hair, and plunged him back to her groin without another word, holding him there in a silent demand, one Andreas obliged with a chuckle. She held him like that as he cored her out, her claws catching on his scalp, her grip gently relaxing when she saw he wasn’t going anywhere.

His nose brushed against a bead of skin, her clitoris drawn out from all the pleasure consuming her. The slimy bud was about twice as large as a human’s, and he took advantage of the surface area, mashing his tongue against its slimy surface.

Her back flexed in an astounding arch, Sharrya biting her lip as she shifted, her teardrop breasts swaying with her endless movements. Her twisting core, her flexing abs, it was like his tongue was music and she was dancing to its tune.

Her thighs slid over his shoulders, Andreas trapped in a pocket of infernal flesh. She let him up for air for only scant moments before encouraging him down again. She could have crushed his skull with those thighs, could have forced him down with her hand, but her hold on his was restrained, gentle. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she was being considerate of his mortal limitations. She really was treating him like a lover.

Taking greedy handfuls of her hips, he pursed his lips around her bud, Sharrya unable to hold back a growl as he lashed it with his tongue. He was sweating bullets thanks to her radiating heat, the scent of their mingled love permeating his nose.

Sharrya was beside herself, her enticing chest rising and falling in deep thrums of breath as he pinched her clitoris with his teeth, drawing random shapes on its rounded surface with his organ.

“Just as I dreamed it,” she muttered, her rump rising off the ground as he reapplied pressure with his soaking fingers.

“What?” Andreas asked, his lips stringy with her excitement as he rose up a little. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” she quipped. “I am so very close, do not get distracted now.”

She went to place her hand on his head, but Andreas went willingly, redoubling his prior efforts. Sharrya met his plunging tongue by rising her hips, fucking his face and snarling like a needy beast.

“It has been so very long,” Sharrya whispered. “I need this Andreas, I need this. I-”

Her breath caught in her throat, Sharrya doubling over as a terrible seizure rocked her, the first throws of her orgasm coming to the forefront. Her spine bent in a perfect arch in one last thrust, her clawed hands digging deeper into the hard floor as she held on for dear life. Andreas watched in alarm as twin balls of fire bloomed in her palms, painting his and Sharrya’s sweating forms in ghastly green hues.

Her body quaked and twitched as she lost herself in her climax, the meat of her thighs sealing over his head, as though she were afraid he might pull away, but that was the last intention on his mind. He kept up his licking and pinching, making sure to draw out every pang of pleasure, in the hopes that he could be the one gloating over her this time around.

One last kiss, and her loins ceased their twitching, Sharrya breathing deeply as she reclined on the floor. He lifted one heavy thigh from his shoulder, peering over her mound to see the demon watching him back, her green eyes full of gloomy desire. She tracked the strings of her juices dangling from his chin, yet their sight did not disgust her, Sharrya reaching down to stoke his cheek in a way that sent his heart fluttering.

He prepared a seething comment, but before he could make it, she cocked her knees, pinching his waist with her hooves. With all the finesse of a gymnast, she brought him up her long body and into her waiting arms, her claws coming down to caress his hair and back.

Without warning, her lips met his in a ferocious kiss, and if she was bothered by her taste on his mouth, then she didn’t show it. The way she forced herself into his throat was like nothing he’d ever experienced, it made him feel small, vulnerable to her, yet so pleasurable at the same time.

He did his best to meet her kiss, twisting in her arms, his eyes drooping shut as her pliant tongue coiled between his cheeks. It was too much to look her in the eye – her gaze went straight into his soul, those green eyes promising vulnerability and passion on a whole other level.

She pulled away with a wet smack, as breathless as he was, her hands falling to loop over his waist. “You show as much dedication in the bedroom as you do in the battlefield,” she chuckled.

“It’s not a bedroom,” he replied, his mind hazy.

“Be silent and hug me, my little mortal.”

Spooning wasn’t part of the deal, he was about to say, but when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, it felt too good to turn her down. His resistance crumbled, and he reached beneath her shoulders, returning her embrace as he settled his cheek in her bountiful cleavage. He was getting used to her fervour, her body reminiscent of a heated mattress he could fall asleep on right then and there.

“That quick tongue of yours takes me by surprise once more,” she whispered, bringing her head to his and nudging him with her horn. It was an oddly intimate gesture, perhaps demons did that as a show of affection or dominance.

“You look like you needed that,” he said, noting her satisfied expression. “So that’s it, right? I gave you head, now you give me information?”

“Patience, mortal, we haven’t even gotten to the main course of our feast,” she replied. “Allow me a moment to recover, then we shall conclude this transaction of ours.”

Andreas was still a little sore himself, so he lay down on her again, Sharrya giggling and holding him close. The prospect of sticking his cock inside her made his head spin with fantasies he wouldn’t be caught dreaming of, his member twitching in anticipation, a fact that didn’t pass Sharrya by.

“You long to mate with me, don’t you?” she cooed, stroking his scalp, her claws sending shivers down his neck. “Mankind would deny their sinful urges even with their dying breath, but you? You are enthralled by the indulgence I offer. Such a debased act of Sin would mark you a heathen to all others.”

“I’m not partial to all this religious crap,” Andreas grumbled. “I’m just after those nest locations.”

“But you enjoy me, I saw it in those adorable little expressions of yours,” she whispered, leaning forward and pushing her forehead to his, her fiery eyes filling his vision. “And those noises! I hope for your sake this cell really is soundproof.”

“What about you?” he shot back. “You sounded like a monkey in heat when you begged me to eat you out.”

“I-I did not beg!” she stuttered. “And never say otherwise, or I’ll put those restraints back on you.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin your image or whatever,” he said. “Sharrya begs a mortal for head while held captive’, that wouldn’t’ go down well in Hell’s newspaper.”

“That does it, if you won’t be silent, I’ll just have to make you quiet.”

Before he knew what was happening, the Baroness rolled him over, reaching out her clawed hands to grapple him. She was playfighting with him, giggling like a schoolgirl as she rolled him over, and Andreas would be lying if he didn’t like playfighting her back, chuckling in frustrated amusement as the demon acted in a very un-demon-like way.

Her thighs gripped his sides as she placed him on his back, subduing him with her obscene weight, her lengthy knees tucking beneath his armpits. Her hanging breasts shifted as she adjusted herself atop him, swinging like mesmerizing pendulums.

Peering at him over her chest, she brought her head over his, aiming a nipple for his mouth, one he latched on to the second it came within reach.

“This should sh-shut you up,” Sharrya grumbled, but it was her who went quiet when his teasing licks and nibbles sent her into a trance, his very tongue bewitching her. Like liquid, her breasts melted around his face and chest, burying him in hot, velutinous flesh.

His wandering hands cupped her wherever he could reach, his fingers sliding on a layer of his own sweat, leaving smears on her pink skin. She was all fat and muscle, distributed in all the most enticing of ways, Sharrya the perfect blend of death and beauty. He groped her filled-out hip, feeling her iron muscles flex beneath the layers of blubber that gave her that alluring outline he had secretly admired from the day he’d met her.

“You cannot resist running your hands over me, can you?” she asked, but not in a mocking way. There was an underlying embarrassment in her words, and he remembered what she had told him of her youth, of how she was teased and humiliated by her peers, and he felt a pang for the demon sting his chest. “So affectionate,” she cooed. “feel every part of me, I want you making mental maps of my body before the day is through.”

“Kind of hard not to, the way you’re all over me like a housecat,” he said, the mere feel of his breath on her nipple making her shudder.

“If I want you on your back, beneath me, then that is where you shall be,” Sharrya reiterated, glaring down at him. Her gaze lost its venom when he laughed up at her, the demon cocking her head.

“You’re pretty cute when you’re pissed off and turned on at the same time,” he said, taking handfuls of her bosom from below.

“I-I am not-” she stammered, taken back for a second. “Never use that word around me again.”

“What, turned on?”

“That’s two words, fool. Do not refer to me as ‘cute’ again. I have a reputation to uphold, I cannot have you blemishing it further with these unseemly accusations.”

“You’re not upholding shit,” he replied. “I’ve heard you moan in a dozen different pitches, and that’s all I’ll remember you by.”

“And what of you?” she shot back, placing her hands on his shoulders. “I have seen you bite you squirm and bite your lip as though you were untouched by a woman.”

To illustrate her point, her hand snaked along and seized his throat, her long fingers wrapping all the way around. She didn’t choke him, but held him just enough to let him know who was in control here, Andreas gulping down a lump with some effort.

She leaned down, her tits squishing against his chest as she delivered another uninhibited kiss, Andreas finding himself enthralled by her roiling tongue. She peeled away, their mingled saliva dribbling down their chins as she hovered over his nose.

“Enough of this windup,” she said, still gripping his neck as she lifted away on her sinewy torso. “I’m going to wring you of everything you have. You may have defeated me on the field, but wringing you of your essence until you’re battered and bruised will more than make up for this setback.”

He couldn’t voice a reply, as Sharrya had raised her rump and took hold of his member, her warm hands taking him by surprise. Her knees on the ground, her manoeuvred herself until her hips settled on his, the weight of her ass jostling on his knees. She placed his member straight before her lips, her furry coat ticking his underside. She pressed her vulva against it, Andreas grunting as her juices draped it in a syrupy coat.

She traced one of his veins with her claw, holding him like that for a while. He was almost ready to plea her to hurry it along when her patience ran out first, Sharrya guiding his glans towards her wet labia.

There was a ring of resistance, and then Sharrya forced him inside her, her muscled walls sealing around him. She was far tighter than her size would have him believe, her folds clenching over his rod as the baroness seized up, feeling the odd shape of his organ pierced her privates. She twisted her hips, shimmying down his length one inch at a time, like she was trying to force a screw through a hole that was a little too small, each cocking of her waist making him dizzy with pleasure.

When her velvet insides wrapped around his base, Sharrya taking him all the way to the hilt, his breath came out in a gasp, Andreas’ hips rising of their own accord, but Sharrya was too heavy that the effort was mute, her thighs clamping down on him as he flexed inside her.

“There it is,” Sharrya breathed, opening her legs to give him a beautiful view of their coupling. Her red flesh contrasted with his tanned skin, barely a sliver of his cock visible from this angle as she trapped it within her sleeve. “To be so depraved as to mate with a demon. Is it as good as you hoped, Andreas?”

“You’re the one who went all starry-eyed when I offered to fuck you,” he pointed out. “How can you get more desperate than-”

“Silence,” she grumbled, clenching down on him, her muscled insides no less developed than her body. “you want that information you’ll choose your words carefully.”

“I think you like it when I talk back,” he said, flinching when her twitching insides caressed him in just the right way. “You’re bored of everyone doing what you tell them, and I’m just a breath of fresh air.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not elaborating further.

Her body temperature on the inside was far higher than the outside, those slippery walls cooking his member into a boiling pocket of heaven, for lack of a better word. Her creasing insides flexed in rhythmic waves, dragging him deeper, and her already narrow tunnel constricted around his glans. She was built like a thumbscrew, squeezing him harder the more she drew him in.

Biting back a gasp, Andreas held onto her hips in the hopes of bracing himself, her blubbery flesh spilling through his fingers. He took greedy handfuls of the base of his spine, admiring the little arch it made, sliding down to her shapely rump. He’d have loved to admire her ass from behind, the thing was shaped like a peach and simply gigantic, but Sharrya wanted him on his back now, just like she’d said. He could still get a sense of it with his hands, however. They were like two balls of memory foam, jutting out and completing her hourglass shape when viewed from the front. They were so pert that when he squeezed, hard steely muscles pressed back with equal firmness. He could have thrown a coin at her ass and it would have bounced right back.

There was so much of Sharrya around him that he really didn’t know where to feel her next – not that anything above her stomach was within reach. Her giant form rose over him, making him feel like a mouse caught in the grip of a ginormous cat, one with a hunger that wasn’t quite literal, or at least he hoped not.

“How you writhe,” Sharrya cooed, Andreas feeling her chuckle vibrate through their coupling. “It is you who are the cute one, Andreas. You’re as red as my skin!”

“Fuck you,” he snarled, gasping when Sharrya gave her hips a cruel twist, her flesh spinning around his cock.

“You most certainly are,” she chuckled. “I’m going to ruin you for human women. You’ll be craving for immortal pussy until your dying breath.”

She brought her hips upward, her glans raking across her walls on the way out, the two of them sharing a shudder at the shared sensation. She may have been a demon, but she seemed to be enjoying this just as much as he was. When only his glans were still inside her, she slammed back down on him, her cheeks clapping against his thighs loudly.

Andreas would have doubled over if not for her weight, the breath leaving his lungs in a heave. The explosion of pleasure made him dizzy, his mind only registering her raising her hips once more a few seconds later.

“Not so hard, you asshole,” he said. “I need my bones intact, thank you very much.”

“Poor thing, what happened to your confidence?” she asked, working into a slow, heavy rhythm, pausing at her peaks to make her coming down all the more intense.

Buried in the heat of her vulva, Andreas could not form a reply, gripping at her thighs and ass as he laid back to enjoy the sensations assaulting him. Just like her throat, her nethers were latching onto the very shape of his member, conforming and kneading. He lurched when those bristles he had explored before introduced themselves, running along his shaft like a hundred tiny tongues, all working independently of the other to lick and drag him deeper into her love tunnel.

He felt more like he was making love to a beast than a thinking being, Sharrya impaling herself on him as though intending to drive the air from his lungs. Her overwhelming size, her inhuman presence, her sheer power and strength, it all added up to a savage experience the kind of which he’d never felt before.

“Are you nearing your limit already?” Sharrya asked, alternating her deep thrusts with slow rocks of her hips, driving him into every nook and cranny of her vent. “Shall I – oh! – shall I finish you off, or pity you just this once? Oh, what to do…”

“Sounds like you’re just as close as I am,” he noted.

“Your shape is not what I’m used to,” she replied, her breath quickening. “That ridge along the top, there, it drives me crazy…”

“You were already crazy,” he said. Sharrya wasn’t far off the mark, he could feel his climax nearing, her cruel pace catching him by surprise, a rising need generating in his loins.

Sharrya paused on her next downward fall, gravity doing most of the work for her as she settled on his hips. She didn’t lift herself off again, rather she kept perfectly still, smirking at him as he tried to hide his disappointment, that buildup in his genitals receding in the following stillness.

“Let us not end things too quickly,” she cooed. “This is but the first bout, and it deserves to be savoured.”

She placed her hands on his knees, staring at the ceiling as she let his member stew inside her, transitioning from pumping her hips to rocking them. Just as when she walked, she anchored her hips to the left and right, using his cock to stir her insides in new and exciting places. Her movements were small, managed, never enough to bring him closer to release, but just enough to tease him and keep him hard as a rock.

He covered his face in one hand, Sharrya giggling as she began to pump him again, only to switch back to slow sways of her hips when she sensed his rising need. She was playing him like an instrument, staring into his soul with those predatory eyes. It was humiliating, and he was loving every second of it.

He had to occupy himself, Andreas swearing he’d go crazy from this borderline torture. He turned his attention to their coupling, seeing her engorged clitoris poking out from her entrance. He reached out and pressed his thumb against it, Sharrya growling in appreciation as he drew slow circles over it.

His other hand moved up to caress her flat belly, his nails pricking at the faded scars and bullet wounds streaking up her torso like island chains. A lifetime of war had left their mark on her body, left there by weapons that were far beyond his mortal understanding. Some of these wounds had been made by his own hand, he remembered, Andreas smirking as he realised he had gone from killing her to copping a feel. The Cosmos has a strange sense of humour.

He turned his palm towards her chest, Sharrya surprising him by bending double to allow him to reach her bosom. It would have been well out of reach otherwise.

Her insides seized wonderfully around him as he pinched a nipple, both hands burning with her heat as he rubbed and stroked her sensitive points. His core flexed as he rose in a sit-up motion, bringing his lips to her clavicle and showering her in kisses.

Sharrya froze up, her hips going still, yet not for her prior reasons to keep him wanting more. He insides spasmed as he kept up his pinching and stroking, focusing on all her erogenous points at once, the onslaught of sensations too much for even the Baroness to handle.

“S-Such vigour,” Sharrya said shivering when he pinched her boob in his teeth. “I thought I was to have my way with you, not the other way around…”

She hadn’t said that as a compliment, but as a surprise, a sliver of teeth exposing in a bright smile, its warmth complimented by her rosy cheeks. Such a happy expression shouldn’t belong on a demonic entity, but Andreas found his stomach swimming with butterflies the more he looked at it.

He kept up his attentions on her magnificent breasts, faltering a little when Sharrya began to rock her hips again, only this time she kept her pace steady, consistent, her chuckles tapering into moans as she scraped him against her silken walls.

They were both sweating as though baking under a hot summer’s sun, every inch of her body he touched covered in moisture, Andreas likewise soaked through. Sharrya clawed at him like a monkey, one arm wrapping over his waist, the other over his shoulders, pressing him deeper into her cleavage as though fearing he might separate from her, as though Andreas would ever consider the prospect, surrounded by soft, demonic flesh as he was.

There was just enough leeway that he could rise up to meet her thrusts, Sharrya morphing into steady bounces on his cock, the bursts of pleasure coming in raw, harsh instances. The scent of their sex was thick in his nose, their mingled sweat dripping to her furry legs and leaving stains on the tiles below. It was a raw, uninhibited scene that Sharrya was giving herself into without thought, Andreas throwing away all reservations and joining her willingly.

Hands and claws groped at skin, pinching and caressing wherever they could, Andreas unable to keep track of where all these sensations were coming from, his mind clouded in a haze. Sharrya was so lithe despite her brawn, her core anchored to her hips as she twisted like a dancer, lodging his cock deep into her tunnel. Her heavy breaths blew his hair back in short rasps, the demon tucking his head beneath her chin.

“Not gonna keep this up for much longer,” he muttered into her chest.

“Nor can I,” Sharrya breathed. “Do not fight it, just this one time. Pour all your essence into me and hold nothing back.”

His dick throbbed at her sordid words, Sharrya cooing in appreciation at this sudden flex. Her flexing clitoris pumped up and down his rod like a slimy nub, each of her powerful thrusts plunging him into her soft depths. He could feel bruises blooming over his pelvis, but like the rest of their intimate encounter, the mingled pain and pleasure was a sweet torment he wished would never end.

“Look me in the eyes,” she muttered, cupping his chin. “I want to see your face when you try to sire my offspring, so I may never forget such a moment.”

Andreas didn’t have a choice in the matter, Sharrya’s grinning visage filling his entire view as she pushed her forehead to his. The way she looked him in the eye was all it took to send him over the edge, Andreas gripping her wobbling hips as his crotch seized up, the first spurt of his seed spilling into her intimate depths.

Sharrya snorted like a bull, the sound shifting into a groan as his hot load splashed against her tunnel in a violent wave, her bottom lip trembling. Her vent contracted around him as the demon’s own orgasm followed through not long after, Andreas swearing he could feel his waist being pulled forward as her bristled walls flexed and moved.

It was as though his very energy was pouring into her through his cock, exhaustion demanding he lay his cloudy head down, but a clawed hand on his shoulders put a stop to that. Sharrya was keeping him propped up, gauging his every twitch and reaction as she kept them face-to-face, his cheeks blushing as she observed him at his weakest. His breath was hers, and hers his own, the barrier separating their bodies breaking down as their mingled lovemaking pulled them into its hazing clutches.

He rode the current of passion freely, his hips raising of their own accord as he fucked his come deeper, her tight passage sucking down his seed eagerly. Each spurt was chased by a wave of exhaustion, and yet his climax was invigorated by its own results, a loophole of pleasure reducing him into a defeated, satisfied mess. He hugged Sharrya around the waist like a newborn, Sharrya placing her hand on his head and pushing him into her cleavage, her spicy smell, and the sordid mixture of their sweat enveloping him.

It felt like minutes passed before he finally rode down from his high, his eyes going wonky as some of his faculties returned to his control. Sharrya’s smirk was the first thing he perceived, one of mingled amazement and satisfaction – satisfaction that she’d finally had her win over him. A small win, but a win nonetheless.

“Adorable little thing,” she cooed. “I shall remember your Sinning Face forever.”

“Screw you,” he said, and then mashed his face against hers. Her eyes blazed in shock, and then she closed them as they shared a kiss, pouring their passion into every stoke like it was the last day on Earth.

Andreas separated with a wet smack, and when he collapsed back, Sharrya didn’t stop him. The demoness joined him, laying down by his side, sharing one last sigh with him as they separated, his cock coming out marred with their combined fluids. He had filled her to capacity it seemed, their shared love dripping down her leg in droves.

The Baroness turned to him to say something, and then she looked down at her crotch, reaching her giant hand towards her nethers. They came back slick with their mess, Andreas blinking as he watched her long tongue snake out to lap at the juices.

“What the… What the fuck are you doing?” he breathed, face contorting as she reached down for seconds. She was thorough, only stopping once her genitals were utterly cleaned, devouring the mess like a thirsty woman denied water.

“Such energy,” Sharrya groaned, licking her lips as she watched him beneath heavy lids. “The blend of mortal and demonic essence… I’ve never tasted raw power like this before.”

She smirked, her long head swinging over him and falling to his lap, Andreas groaning as her hot tongue flicked over his lingering erection. The sounds of her slurps and sucks filled his ears as she cleaned up his lap, Andreas twitching when she lingered on his sack for a little longer than was necessary.

Bold after their encounter, he decided to fulfill his wish, taking her by the horns and guiding her with gentle tugs. She chuckled around his cock, the vibrations sending lingering aftershocks coursing through him, but she offered no resistance.

She withdrew, flopping down beside him hard enough he nearly bounced, the two of them utterly spent as they lay together. The cell looked like someone had staged a breakout. The TV had been knocked off its trolley at some point, disk cases were everywhere, and there were scratch and burn marks all over the floor.

“What was that all about?” he asked, gesturing at his crotch. “You didn’t have to… clean up.”

“Demons feed off energy, as you know,” she explains. “It sustains us and Hell as a whole. Living off the Sins of other beings is a powerful source energy, and I do not have to tell you that our union is the most debouched act of taboo either one of us has ever done. Perhaps we should rethink our methods of harvesting…”

“Starting to sound like a succubus or something,” he mumbled.

“What’s a succubus? Something from your movies as well?”

Andreas didn’t answer, taking in the details of the ceiling as he wallowed in the post-coital bliss. Sharrya embraced him from the side, pulling him closer so that the side of his head was engulfed by her left bosom, the gesture making his blush harder.

They stayed like that for a while, but he didn’t keep quiet for long, Andreas turning on his side to address her.

“Well?” he asked, Sharrya cocking her head.

“Well, what?”

“I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now it’s your turn.”

“Was having your fill of me not a reward enough?” she asked, chuckling as he pulled a stoic face. “It won’t help you, you know,” she added. “I meant what I said before. Knowing where my gore nests lay will not win your war.”

“No, but it’ll be the first step to kicking your kind off our planet.

“It seems I can’t convince you otherwise,” she mused, stroking his chest with one of her claws. “No matter, I have already had my fun.”

“Exactly. So…?”

“So… No.”

“What?” he asked, looking up at her, still held in her embrace. “What do you mean ‘no’? Sharrya, we had a deal!”

“The deal was that I have my way with you, and then you get the nests,” she pointed out. “I must be satisfied with my part of the exchange first.”

“What, those moans and groans of yours were actually from disappointment, were they? That what you’re trying to say?”

“Not exactly. I think that perhaps another round or two is in order, then we shall reevaluate,” she said, a coy look on her face.

Andreas tried to look annoyed, but he couldn’t keep a straight face, his lips curling in a grin. “Alright, I can agree to those terms. Let’s see how much Sin we can make in here.”

“A splendid idea. Let us make it so that even the Maykyrs will be jealous of us,” Sharrya giggled, rolling onto her back as Andreas began to mount her. He had the feeling he was going to be in this cell for a long while.

-xXx-

Andreas walked down the length of the Rallypoint’s southern wall, a high breeze sweeping at his unkempt hair. Regulations had been thinning since his stay at the fortress had been extended, he didn’t even have to stop and salute his superiors every other minute like back on the flotilla, = his loose affiliation with the Spanish Army giving him the status as a hero of the people. Being on land had never felt so good, aside from a few ‘choice’ concerns.

“My dick still hurts,” Andreas grumbled, steadying his hand on the railing as he limped along. “This is worse than when I had to escape that crash site, and I had to fight a horde of demons back then.”

“Be thankful it was only your pelvis that was injured,” Eva sighed, her chassis hovering after him above his right shoulder. “Did you really expect otherwise? You mated with an entity who’s first words out of its mouth were probably pain and death. And the state you two left that cell in! The place looked like a crime scene!”

“When it comes to a girl with horns and claws, you’ll have to expect things will get messy when we do the dirty. She’s not delicate, inside or out.”

“That’s quite enough,” Eva cut him off. “As If I would enjoy listening to you… describe your encounter with that thing.”

“I would,” chirped Sharrya, Eva glaring her lens at the demon. The Baroness was walking steadily behind them, and behind her, four guards followed after at a safe distance, postures tense but their weapons lowered. Sharrya had proven cooperative enough and displayed enough good behaviour she was allowed a modicum of freedom, even her request to watch the oncoming show had been approved, though she was not allowed to go anywhere without Andreas and a few dozen riflemen training a bead on her.

Her hands were clasped before her in an almost dainty fashion, the handcuffs viced around her wrists. She raised them as she lifted an explanative finger and continued: “Two lovers having wild, interspecies relations, which are prenuptial no less? Who wouldn’t wish to listen to that?”

“Me!” Eva snapped. “And who told you you had permission to speak, prisoner?”

“Perhaps describing such passion is more to your preference, machine? Or maybe you like watching more?” she asked, narrowing her green eyes. “That would explain why you had Andreas keep his helmet nearby…”

“A-As if I would stoop so low as to spy on your… eroticisms,” Eva stammered.

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of voyeurism, Eva,” Andreas said. “I trust you won’t let the recordings get out.”

“She recorded it?” Sharrya asked, placing a shocked hand on her chest. “I’d have put on a better show if you had forewarned me, Eva. I would have upped the tempo, as the humans say.”

“I didn’t watch anything!” Eva exclaimed, watching to the two of them snicker. “Screw you both. Our flight home couldn’t come sooner.”

The three of them soon arrived at the corner section, standing upon the dais that served as the platform for the anti-aircraft emplacement.

Sharrya stepped up the raised section, sidling in on his left. Eva shared a look between the two, then decided to give them some privacy, floating out of earshot.

“I still think this is a waste of your time and resources,” Sharrya said, staring off into the blasted cityscape. “Gore nests are a vital part of our coordination efforts, true, but their loss will not to stop the invasion.”

“It’ll send whoever’s left of your army on the run, won’t it?” he asked. “That’s a win in my book.”

“Others will come,” Sharrya replied. “My small force was only deployed here because greater resistance lay elsewhere. All you have done is replace one warlord with another, and I doubt they will be willing to sleep with their enemy in exchange for a sliver of peace.”

Andreas spared her a glance, having to crane his neck to do so. “I used to think you were my enemy, too, Sharrya,” he said at last. “You tried to kill me a dozen times over, and I did the same to you, but now that we’ve no reason to fight, I think I’ve got you figured out. There’s a person under all that brawn who’s honourable, respectful. I don’t think I could ever give those qualities to someone I’m opposed to.”

“I… don’t think of you as my enemy either,” she said, blinking at his sudden candour. “Especially not after having you between my legs and shivering all over.”

“I think I can get you shivering with just one of these,” he said, holding up a hand.

“Right here and now?” Sharrya cooed, her eyes flashing with glee. “In front of all your friends? How deliciously daring…”

Before he could make a move, a clap of thunder echoed overhead, he and Sharrya turning their heads to the horizon. A couple miles deep into the layers of teeth-shaped structures, a plume of smoke bloomed up from the ruins, showering it in fire and smoke. He could vaguely pick out precarious buildings collapsing on their crumbling foundations.

After a delay, a second clap reached his ears, followed soon by another plume rising from a different direction, the soundwave reaching them after a noticeable delay. A third arrived, then a fourth, half a dozen, and soon the series of detonations was almost continuous, carpeting the city all the way from the Rallypoint to the horizon.

“Artillery barrages won’t destroy all of them,” Sharrya noted. “Some lay hidden beneath the Earth, how will you reach those?”

Just at that moment, a pair of interceptors screamed overhead, and flanking their lefthand wings were a pair of dropships, the same design as the one he and his squad had dispatched from. They were moving deeper into the continent, continuing on for a ways before splitting off into separate directions.

“Special op teams,” he explained. “Straight from the fleet. They’ll take care of the nests the fleet can’t hit with their guns.”

“Efficient,” Sharrya mused. “Your leaders are as determined by this plan as you are. I cannot fault them for that, even if this course of action changes little.”

He thought that standing there, watching as her legions were scattered by barrage after barrage, there might be some hostility brewing between them, but Sharrya put such thoughts in vain, her hand depositing itself on his shoulder warmly.

“This doesn’t… change things between us, does it?” he asked. “Me destroying everything you’ve built up?”

She considered for a long moment, looking from him to the city.

“Of course not. War isn’t personal for me or my species, it’s simply a part of us. I can always rebuild, just as your people can… if you ever win back your planet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he grumbled. After a few minutes longer, the artillery stopped, Andreas counting they had reached into the fifties before the final volley. “So… I guess that’s it, it’s over.”

“In a sense,” Sharrya replied. “What happens now?”

“The fleet’s going to reposition before dispatching a dropship to pick me and Eva up,” he explained. “They’ll probably keep me here for a while, both to debrief me and to keep an eye on you. They heard about how much you and I… get along,” he added. “Way I see it, they might just sign me on as your intermediary.”

“If you want more information, you know my terms,” she said, a sly grin on her face. “Of course, the more your people ask of me, the more I will of you in turn…”

Andreas winced as she cupped his manhood through his jumpsuit, squeezing him in just the way he liked. He felt warmth in his cheeks as she gave him that soul-stare he had become very acquainted with during there ten or so romps they’d had before she’d finally let up and held up her end of the deal.

“What a provocative future we have in store,” she purred. “but… it is not for me.”

Her grip on his crotch loosened, then fell away, Andreas giving her a questioning look. Her lips spread in a cruel smile, she flexed her hands before her chest, Andreas watching in astonished horror as her shackles snapped apart with two cracks of metal.

“How the fu- I put those on you myself!” he stammered in disbelief.

“You humans really need to work on your restraints,” she said, smirking at the metal bands dangling from her wrists.

“This… This whole time?” he muttered, taking an alarmed step back from her.

“Don’t get me wrong, this has been the most fun I’ve had in my life for decades, and the allure of being tied up was so very delectable. I think I’ll keep them as a memento, to remember you by. Unless of course… you want to come with me?”

“Come with you? What do you mean?”

“Oh, Andreas, you don’t really expect me to stay here as a prisoner, do you?” She turned her body inwards, keeping her arms out of view behind her bulk as she addressed him. “I like you, really like you, but not enough to brave torture and humiliation. Best that I go now, I’ve overstayed my welcome long enough.”

“Oh,” he said, a little more disappointed than he liked to admit. “Guess I’m not that surprised. Where will you go?”

“Thanks to a certain someone, I have no choice but to return to Hell, face the repercussions of my failure here, and rebuild my forces. There should still be a few acolytes at my cathedral to open a portal.”

“But the suppression field’s still on, how can you make a portal?”

“You let me worry about that,” she replied. “Now come here.”

Sharrya grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, lifting him off the ground without warning and locking her lips to his. His heart fluttered as her tongue touched his lower lip, and he opened up to let her tongue in, her organ wetting the insides of his cheeks. Her movements were urgent, as though she only had a few scant moments to shower him in affection before time was up, her now free hands pressing into his cheeks.

She broke off, Andreas gasping for air as her green eyes filled his vision.

“How I long to take you back to Hell with me,” she purred. “My tower on the Peaks is isolated and very, very private. There’s a place for you there, you know, and I could do all sorts of things to keep you occupied…”

She stroked his hair, leaning in to nip his neck with her tusks.

“What do you say?” she asked. “You’re resilient, and you’ve become intimate with my body temperature. I think you would survive the journey. My own little mortal concubine, a limitless source of energy and Sin. I’d be the envy of all of Hell…”

“I-I can’t just leave behind my world,” he said. “As much as I’m flattered, I think I’m fine right here on Earth.”

“Pity,” she replied. “But your valour is just one of the things I admire about you.” Her eyes darted to the side. “I should go before someone catches on.”

“Wait,” he said, Sharrya blinking as he grabbed her forearm. “Will I… will we see each other again?” he asked.

She chuckled, Andreas blushing harder. Ever since their debauched dealings, he felt more connected to Sharrya than ever. He’d come to learn more about her, and likewise she had learned more about his life than even Eva did. He knew they wouldn’t stay as bed-buddies forever, but the sudden goodbyes were hitting him where it stung.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sharrya laughed. “I know what planet you live on, and your very life-force is known to me. Tracking you down will be trivial, and track you down I will. Stay vigilant the next time you’re out fighting the hordes, Andreas, because it might just be your favourite Baroness who’s leading the charge.”

“If you want a rematch, I’ll be waiting,” he replied.

“There’s a good boy,” she said, patting his hair like one would ruffle the collar of a dog. He shooed her off, but a grin quickly replaced his annoyance, one Sharrya returned with a warm smile.

“I wish you well in your war,” she said, planting her hands on her wide hips. “Until next we meet, morsel.”

She turned and moved around the base of the anti-air gun, one of the soldiers finally noticing that she was free. He shouted out a warning, the rest of the squad turning their rifles on her, but she slipped behind the emplacement, putting the giant gun between her and their weapons.

She strode up to the knee-high barrier ringing the sheer drop of the wall, placing one hoof upon it. She turned to look back at him, their eyes locking over the distance. Her expression was reminisce, and he felt his own features return the gesture.

With that, she turned, and stepped into the sheer drop with her back turned, her eyes never leaving his until the tips of her horns disappeared behind the wall.

He rushed towards the edge, he and the other soldiers peering over the long drop. She was in freefall, plummeting down the wall like a giant red stone, Andreas’ heart panging in worry. As he watched, Sharrya’s bulk smashed against the outer wall, one hand reaching out to clutch at the metal, one leg curling as she slid against its tattered surface.

Friction slowed her descent by a fraction, but she still sped towards the ground far below like a bullet. When she landed at the base, she did so with a plume of dust and smoke, not unlike the artillery strikes they’d just witnessed. He wasn’t surprised to see her climb to her feet when the smog cleared – he knew it took a lot more than a steep fall to kill someone like her.

Strangely enough, she simply stood there for a moment, and then a ripple in the air appeared ahead of her. The tear bloomed into an orb of distorted reality and infernal energies, the portal seeming to stretch toward her in welcome. Either someone had been watching for her escape, or she had some means of contacting her followers. Whichever the reason, it meant she had been planning this escape for some time.

The Baroness marched into the portal’s rolling depths, and when her shoulders slipped through, the orb blinked out of existence, and Sharrya was gone.

“What happened?” Eva demanded, her drone sliding into his peripheral. “I saw the shackles on her arms, how did she get out of them?”

“She just… broke them, like it was nothing,” Andreas explained. “She was faking it the whole time.”

“And you didn’t even try to stop her?” Eva asked.

“What was I supposed to do, tackle her? She’s a nine foot tall demon, Eva, cut me some slack.”

“Okay, okay, sorry, I was hoping we’d have finally caught our break, taking a Baron alive.” Her chassis deflated. “I’d sound the alarm, but she’s probably halfway across the country by this point. Commander Valeria’s not going to be happy about this.”

“At least she went quietly,” Andreas pointed out. “And we got the nest locations out of her, it’s not a complete loss.”

“Good point.” Eva floated in beside his head, lens turned up at the columns of smoke rising out of the city like chimney smoke. “Do you think she’ll be back? Not just for us, but you specifically? You two have been pretty close since your… dealings.”

“Definitely. But we outsmarted her once, we’ll outsmart her again.”

Andreas looked at the place the portal had taken his demonic partner. He had no qualms about calling her that now, not after their romantic movie night in the cell, and he had no reason to believe Sharrya did not feel the same. She wasn’t done with him, of that he was sure, and he welcomed the next time they would meet again.

He watched the closed portal for longer still, and then turned away from the edge, careful to keep his grin hidden from Eva’s sight.

-The End-