Ok, place yout bets. Bel or Pyrak.
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Part X - End of Empire
He is coming, my lord.
Fiendbleeder droned within Pyrak’s mind, the mockery in the honorific the sword used was thick.
I want to taste his blood again, so sweet, so powerful… Pyrak refused to acknowledge
Fiendbleeder, it had been mumbling incessantly ever since the retreat from Karagg’Var. It had been a long time since the sword had tasted the blood of a truly unique devil, and its hunger was overwhelming. Although Pyrak remained in control of his body the sword’s desires thrummed through him and filled his own consciousness with their power.
Fiendbleeder wanted Bel, and it would not let Pyrak leave Avernus until he had cleaved the archdevil’s head from his body, or was destroyed in the attempt.
Pyrak stood virtually alone on the grim heat scorched earth of Avernus, a few miles from Karagg’Var awaiting Bel and his army. Above the demon lord the sky was dark with thousands of wheeling vrocks. The winged demons were Pyrak’s elite, his Dreadwings. Only they and himself stood against Bel and his army of devils.
Pyrak has long since sent the rest of his horde back through the planar gate, back to the abyss and the safety of his domain. He wanted nothing more than to join his demons and quit this ceaseless conflict, but
Fiendbleeder would not allow it. The sword had not nearly glutted its desire for infernal blood and the prospect of slaying the very lord of Avernus was simply too great an opportunity, no matter what the cost.
Pyrak reluctantly focused his attention on
Fiendbleeder and spoke at last to the swords desires.
You must let me handle Bel. He reminded the sword.
I know what motivates him; I will need every ounce of my own will to accomplish what you desire.
Never! You want to run. I can feel it within you, demon. Fiendbleeder replied acidly.
If I let you have what you propose then you will flee.
No. I will not. But if you do not let me have complete control, I will fight you every step of the way, and Bel will slay me. Pyrak delivered his threat without hesitation; he meant every word of it.
And there you will be, the great Fiendbleeder, in the hands of an archdevil. Destined to while away the eons in some long forgotten treasure vault while your enemies only grow stronger. The barb was sharp, and Pyrak knew that it had scored deep.
You’re bluffing. You have no wish to die. The sword answered after a long spate of silence.
Pyrak could sense the doubt in
Fiendbleeder's voice and pushed his advantage.
You know every inch of mind, every thought I have ever had. Do you not?
Yes, I know you, demon. Suspicion echoed with the droning rasp of
Fiendbleeder's words, it knew what was coming next.
Then tell me, am I bluffing?
In the long silence that followed that question, Pyrak realized his victory. He felt
Fiendbleeder pulling back until the sword became nothing more than the barest hint of a whisper in the back of his mind. For the first time in a very long while Pyrak felt alone and he reveled in the sensation.
Pyrak heard Bel’s approach long before he caught sight of the mammoth army the Archdevil led. The ground shook as the vast force of baatezu marched and the fell voices of infernal commanders barking orders drifted to Pyrak’s ears in the still air of Avernus.
“Dreadwings! To me!” Pyrak bellowed. At his command the cloud of vrocks overhead sped ground ward and landed behind their master en masse.
From the horde of feathered demons a single tall, battle scarred vrock emerged and stalked confidently up to its master. The vrock stood patiently to one side of Pyrak, awaiting him to acknowledge its presence.
“What is on your mind, Grimclaw?” Pyrak finally said to the large vrock.
“Master, I am concerned. What purpose is there to throwing our lives away here? The greater glory of the blood war will not be served.” The large vrock said boldly.
Pyrak smiled inwardly, he had always respected Grimclaw’s forthrightness and general lack of fear. Of all the demon lord’s servants the leader of the Dreadwings was his favorite. Grimclaw lacked the puling subservience of many of his other servants – namely Heskara – and a genuine respect existed between Pyrak and the big vrock.
“Worry not, Grimclaw. I will not sacrifice my finest warriors needlessly.” Pyrak said. “I require your presence for effect, nothing more.”
“I do not understand.” Grimclaw said with a shake of his avian head and moved to stand in front of his liege. “An army of baatezu, led by Bel will be in here within a few moments. An army that we cannot hope to defeat.”
“That is true.” Pyrak answered flatly.
Grimclaw’s eyes filled with puzzlement at Pyrak’s answer. “Pyrak, I have served you for longer than I can remember, and in all that time I have never questioned you. Bur now I fear that you are intending something that will jeopardize all we have strived for, and I do not understand why.”
Pyrak looked down ay Grimclaw, who although large for a vrock was still dwarfed by his master. It was true Grimclaw had served him flawlessly for nearly eight centuries and a quiet nobility lurked within the vrock that was as rare in the abyss as rain in a desert. Pyrak had come to rely on that nobility, and unlike most of his contemporaries found it an admirable trait.
Pyrak reached out one huge taloned hand and laid it upon Grimclaw’s shoulder, a bizarre gesture that caught the vrock off guard causing him to flinch as if expecting an attack. In response Pyrak snatched his hand back awkwardly and a flash of anger flared to life within the demon lord’s eyes. Grimclaw’s rebuff had angered him and he wasn’t completely sure why. Pyrak wanted to reach for
Fiendbleeder and hack the architect of his confusion to pieces, thereby destroying any evidence of his displayed weakness; instead he spat a reply to the vrock’s questioning with as much venom as he could muster.
“Only one creature will lose its life this day, either Bel or myself. Does this satisfy you Grimclaw, or do you find further need to question my decisions?” The last was an unmistakable threat and Grimclaw wisely slunk back to the rest of his flock unwilling to provoke his master’s ire further.
Pyrak was left alone once more while his vrocks milled about behind him, confused and frightened by their lord’s odd behavior. It truly had been a long time since the demon lord was able to fully explore the confines of his own mind and he was alarmed by what he found there. Buried beneath the remnants of
Fiendbleeder's domination was simply regret and loneliness, nothing more. His identity had been so completely merged with the overwhelming personality of
Fiendbleeder that when left to his own devices he barely even recognized himself. Despair swelled within Pyrak, his existence had become a meaningless blur of pointless endeavor, driven recklessly on by the singular and focused madness of the great black sword across his back.
Pyrak’s reverie of self-loathing was broken by the appearance of Bel’s army and the demon lord lamented that even if he were to slay the archdevil, it would not free him. His servitude to
Fiendbleeder was complete and unending.
Bel approached in the lead of a razor straight line of advancing devils. The baatezu lord wore a suit of blood red plate mail and bore, not his usual falchion, but a great spear with a massive wide-bladed head.
Fiendbleeder suddenly broke its silence and loomed large and all encompassing in Pyrak’s mind.
Ware his spear, demon. It is nearly as powerful as I. The sword retreated to the darkness of Pyrak’s subconscious immediately after delivering its warning and the demon lord took careful note of Bel’s weapon. Bel balanced the spear over one broad armored shoulder, the weapon extending out over his body at an angle like some bizarre antenna. It was composed of a lusterless gray metal and was obviously intended for two-handed use, even by a fiend as large as Bel. Pyrak could see nothing special about it from where he stood, but he no reason to doubt the veracity of
Fiendbleeder's warning.
Pyrak heard his vrocks stirring violently behind him as the infernal army drew near. “Do nothing, until I command it!” The demon lord bellowed as he turned to address his minions. “If any of you so much as move before my say so, you will die at my hands!” Pyrak spun around to face Bel satisfied that his demons were mollified for the moment.
Pyrak watched Bel’s army pull closer marveling at the symmetry and precision with which the great mass of devils moved. Bel was a brilliant strategist and his army was simply an extension of his own formidable intellect. He commanded them with an array of verbal and visual signals from barked orders to colored flags, moving his forces in elegant precision as if simply moving his own body.
Above the mass of devils the sky was dotted with the winged formations of Nycaloths, as the airborne fiends wheeled above Bel’s army in an astonishing display of aerial superiority. Bel advanced to some two hundred yards from Pyrak’s position and then with a single guttural command in infernal his army ground to a halt. The Nycaloths did not land but instead hovered over Bel’s army in a dense cloud. Pyrak looked out over the tight ranks of his foe and reckoned that he was outnumbered by at least fifty-to-one.
Like his recently slain underling Madregogg, Bel had a flair for the dramatic and stalked out a few paces from his army to address his enemy. “Interlopers of Avernus!” The archdevil bellowed, whipping his spear from his shoulder and planting in the ground at his feet with a flourish. “You have defiled the sanctity of this realm for the last time! Submit to this army and the lords of the nine and your lives may be spared. Refuse and face my wrath!”
Pyrak could see the glee upon the face of the archdevil as he finished his short speech. Bel had finally found himself in the position to crush his rival and cement, once again, his rule in Avernus. Pyrak sighed and drew
Fiendbleeder from its scabbard across his back, it was time to find out just how well he knew his opponent. Pyrak held his sword aloft in both hands and boomed his reply.
“Bel, Lord of the First! I, Pyrak, child of the endless chaos demand the rite of Hevak Durr!”
Pyrak found no small amusement at the obvious shock that traveled through the archdevil’s body at his utterance. The rite of Hevak Durr was an ancient ritual that was as old as the blood war itself. It had not been used for millennia and had been forgotten by most of the fiends that participated in the endless conflict. Hevak Durr was a combined word, taken from both the infernal and abyssal tongues, it simply meant “champion’s battle.” The rite could only be enacted by two willing fiends of great and unique power, one demon and one devil. It bound its practitioners to resolve a battle or dispute by single combat, a frightening proposition for most demon princes and archdevils who valued their own skins above all else.
Clever, demon. Very clever. Fiendbleeder whispered softly, the glee in it voice foaming rabidly behind its hushed tones.
Pyrak watched as a trio of cornugons, Bel’s generals, came forward and huddled about their lord. The great archdevil had not replied to Pyrak’s challenge and stood stunned as his minions desperately tried to council him. Bel’s confusion was no mystery to Pyrak; the archdevil had hoped to confront his foe with the might of his entire army. Pyrak had defeated him easily when last they battled and it was certain that Bel did not want to be at that kind of disadvantage again. But here he was confronted with an obscure ritual and a challenge to his honor that he could ill afford to dismiss.
Bel’s initial defeat in his first meeting with Pyrak, coupled with the demon lords string of successful campaigns into Avernus had raised many doubts within the baatezu hierarchy regarding the archdevil’s competency. Pyrak had learned through Gemnez that many powerful pit fiends were eyeing the position as lord of the first and were simply waiting for a nod from the ruling powers of Baator to strike. Of course Bel was no fool and understood very well that his position and even his continued existence required a stunning victory to once again prove his worth. Pyrak was the most obvious choice of trophies for the prestige hungry archdevil and the demon lord’s death would easily win him the accolades necessary to maintain his rule. But, Pyrak had ruined Bel’s opportunity for an easy victory by presenting him with a choice he desperately did not want to make.
If Bel refused the Hevak Durr then he would only confirm the rumors of his fear and weakness, even if his army destroyed Pyrak on the field of battle. The archdevil would soon find himself at the mercy of his enemies, never knowing when that knife in the dark might descend to end his rule and his life. If Bel obliged Pyrak’s challenge then he would face the most infamous demonic scourge that had ever set foot into Avernus in single combat. A combat whose prospects hardly favored the archdevil. The choice was simple, refuse the Hevak Durr and face an enemy he could neither determine or gauge the strength of, or accept and face an enemy he knew however dubious the outcome.
The trio of cornugons around Bel suddenly withdrew, and Bel stood silent for a few moments. Pyrak could almost feel the devils mind working as he furiously attempted to divine an escape from his dilemma. But Pyrak knew his enemy and he knew what choice he would make.
Bel turned to address his army, showing his back to Pyrak and for an instant the demon lord thought that his gamble was not as wise as he has suspected. But the archdevil’s words quieted the doubt that had arisen in Pyrak’s mind.
“Loyal servants of the nine!” Bel cried. “Today you shall witness a great victory for Baator as I Bel slay the interloper Pyrak in personal combat!” The archdevil threw his arms wide as if to embrace the chorus of cheers that burst from his assembled army at his announcement.
Pyrak, who had grounded his weapon while waiting for Bel to make his decision, took up his great black sword and strode out to meet his adversary. The confused and angry voices of his vrocks followed the demon lord and he smiled at what they must perceive as utter madness. Bel too had begun the short journey to join his foe in the space that had been created between their two respective armies. Pyrak tried to read the archdevil’s features as he drew near but Bel held his thoughts and emotions close, and the demon lord could divine nothing from his stony red glare.
“That’s quite a weapon you’ve got there, Bel.” Pyrak said amiably as he drew within speaking distance of the archdevil. “I didn’t even know you could use a spear.”
“And use it well, demon. I promise you a closer look at
Dreadskewer once this foolishness has begun.” Bel shot back, beaming confidence that Pyrak knew was not there.
“Then let it begin.” Pyrak said and ran a hand down the naked edge of
Fiendbleeder's blade opening up a wide gash that oozed thick rust colored blood. He then held his wounded hand, palm out, to Bel. “With my blood I implore the lords of chaos to sanctify this ground.”
In reply Bel brought his own taloned extremity to his mouth and raked it across one of his many protruding fangs. The acrid smell of brimstone arose from the cut as he thrust his hand out. “With my blood I appeal to the might of law to sanctify this ground.” He then stepped forward and pressed his palm to Pyrak’s.
An electric thrill passed through each of the two fiends as their blood mingled, and in unison they continued the ritual. “By the blood of chaos and of law our fate shall be decided by combat. Let all who witness bear testament that we go willingly to destruction or triumph.” The world suddenly became still and an odd metallic tang arose on the wind as the powerful magic of the Hevak Durr gathered.
“Duvash mehedrek, Hevak Durr!” Both Pyrak and Bel bellowed in their combined tongues, spewing forth the final words of power that completed the rite. In response a flash of brilliant white light burst from the two fiends and spread in a huge fanning arc across both armies. The energy passed through the ranks of devils and demons in seconds, leaving them unharmed but oddly still.
Pyrak stumbled back a dozen paces dazed from the heady sensation of so much power released. He noticed Bel too was reeling from their ordeal and then for the first time in many days the demon lord experienced the pervasive stillness of absolute silence. Both his vrocks and the huge infernal army were silent, even the Nycaloths above hung suspended, frozen still as if time itself had ceased. The bodies of the collective fiends had been left in whatever position they had been in when the rite of Hevak Durr finished and they appeared as a mammoth gallery of incredibly life like sculptures.
Pyrak marveled at the epic power that was contained in the simple rite, but understood the necessity for the strange magic. Now none could interfere with what was about to take place, neither his demons nor Bel’s devils could influence the outcome of this duel. Pyrak looked over to Bel who stood stunned, although both fiends knew of the rite of Hevak Durr neither of them had ever seen it enacted, and the archdevil now realized that his fate lay completely within his own hands. Fear was plainly visible on Bel’s scaled features as he assumed a fighting stance, crouching low and centering the tip of his spear at Pyrak’s chest.
Pyrak took up
Fiendbleeder and began to circle Bel, massive blade held before him ready to slap away spear thrusts. Pyrak had battled many devils in his long years but never had he faced one so desperate as Bel surely was. The spear the archdevil carried was truly a magnificent weapon and Pyrak recalled
Fiendbleeder's warning that it was nearly as powerful the great sword itself. Pyrak wondered if the spear Bel had named
Dreadskewer was staking its claim upon the archdevil’s mind just as
Fiendbleeder had claimed Pyrak’s own.
Bel made the first move, stepping up quickly and launching a brutal thrust as Pyrak’s face. It was only an exploratory jab and Pyrak knocked the spear point aside almost casually with his own weapon. Bel had the advantage of reach and Pyrak knew that in order to decide the conflict he would have to get inside the archdevil’s defenses, no easy matter against such a skilled adversary. In addition Bel was armored in a suit of magnificent blood red plate mail. The armor was undoubtedly enchanted and likely could turn aside even a weapon as strong as
Fiendbleeder. Pyrak noted only one weak spot in Bel’s formidable defense; he wore no helm.
The battle would decided be skill at arms alone. Both of the powerful fiends had a vast array of arcane powers but both were also highly resistant to magical attack and the time required to prepare such an assault would leave its practitioner very vulnerable.
Pyrak watched Bel as they circled round and around, looking for an opening in the archdevil’s defenses. Tired of this cautious dance Pyrak sprang to the offence, rushing forward and whirling his blade in a low arc knocking the point of Bel’s spear aside. Pyrak raced up the length of Bel’s deflected weapon, eager for the killing strike but the archdevil was quick and spun around bringing the butt of his weapon against Pyrak’s skull as he rushed in. Not expecting this attack Pyrak was sent crashing to the earth by the powerful spinning blow, not seriously injured but dazed and vulnerable.
Bel did not waste his opportunity and quickly reversed his spear to skewer his downed opponent. Pyrak watched the glistening point of
Dreadskewer descending and realized that he would not be fast enough to parry the weapon with his sword. Desperate he took one hand off of
Fiendbleeder and with more luck than skill snaked his hand up to catch the descending spear just above its deadly tip. Pyrak yanked savagely on Bel’s weapon pulling the archdevil stumbling forward while rising to his feet and swinging
Fiendbleeder one-handed in a wide slash. Pyrak’s attack was off balance but he still managed to slam his blade into Bel’s ribs just below his right arm. The archdevil’s breastplate deflected most of the blow but it knocked him sidewise and allowed Pyrak to retreat safely and gather his wits.
Wary circling began again as both combatants, now having taken the measure of their opponent’s skill became more cautious. Pyrak ever the impetuous demon tired of caution first and tried once again to rush forward and sweep Bel’s weapon off line. The archdevil was prepared for just such a move and simply stepped back and whipped the bladed head of his spear around like a long glaive scoring the first true hit of the combat by ripping his weapon across Pyrak’s midsection.
Pain uncoiled in a bright crimson explosion across Pyrak’s gut as
Dreadskewer ripped into his flesh staining his steel gray plumage with maroon. Pyrak hissed and leapt back, beating his great wings to propel him away from Bel’s reach. He landed a good thirty yards from his foe the pain of his wound growing into a crescendo of agony. Weakness and nausea boiled up from his injury and Pyrak felt his strength dwindling rapidly.
What’s happening? Pyrak howled at
Fiendbleeder who had been conspicuously silent during the battle. The sword rose to the fore of his consciousness in immediate response to the demon lord’s summons.
You are poisoned! Fool! The blade hissed. I
told you to avoid his weapon. It has powers akin to my own, and was created to destroy those such as you.
I do not understand! Pyrak screamed back silently.
No poison can affect me!
None but that created by Dreadskewer.
Fiendbleeder replied.
You must slay Bel quickly or you will be paralyzed. I can stave off the effects of the toxin temporarily buy you must be quick!
Pyrak felt
Fiendbleeder sink back into silence and some of his strength returned, but he knew he had precious little time to spend on a protracted battle. Bel was advancing across the shot distance between he and Pyrak, a broad grin creasing his leering gargoyle-like features.
“How do you fare, demon?” Bel called out. “Has
Dreadskewer's kiss robbed you of your courage?”
Pyrak watched Bel advance and a plan born of desperation and his own chaotic nature germinated and gained purchase within his mind. His only reply to Bel’s mockery was a single piercing screech as he brought
Fiendbleeder up over his head and charged across the field.
Pyrak raced forward until he was a mere twenty feet away from his opponent he then spread his wings and leapt into the air. Bel behaved just as Pyrak had hoped grounding his spear and awaiting the descending demon to impale himself upon it. Pyrak twisted his body crazily as he came down upon
Dreadskewer. His aerial gyrations threw off Bel’s aim and the spear caught the demon lord under his right arm, punching through his flesh and bursting from his back. The pain was unfathomable but Pyrak had accomplished his aim, and as his weight pushed him down the length of
Dreadskewer it pinned the weapon in place and affectively disarmed Bel. The archdevil open his mouth to scream as Pyrak brought
Fiendbleeder down across his skull with all his weight and considerable strength behind it.
An orgiastic howl of pleasure burst through Pyrak’s mind as
Fiendbleeder bisected Bel’s head in a great gout of black ichor. Pyrak crashed to the ground still impaled by
Dreadskewer and an instant later Bel, Lord of the first collapsed dead and bleeding beside him.
