Lucifer's Fall

Satan exited the protection of his sacred keep to survey his lands from his favorite balcony as per usual. As master and crowned king of the largest kingdom in all of Hell, he did all he could to remain connected to all aspects of his expansive territories. Even if it was just looking upon as much of them as he could from the highest tower within his fortress. 

The solid doors closed behind him without a sound due to their well-oiled hinges. With his favored stone goblet in one hand, already filled with his favorite morning vintage of a grapelike berry sprouted and fermented from his vineyards, called uva, he strolled past two of his unmoving elite sentinels. They flanked the wide stone portal leading out to what was his personal balcony, far above the tumult contained within the city atop the plateau. Like the fortress, other structures, hundreds of feet beneath his feet, were moored to the plateau which was the heart of the expansive city stirring at the plateau’s feet.

Set in front of each of the well-armed and armored sentinels which were similarly clad in armor and weapons he generally had adorned, two of his guard hounds craned their necks to their master. The one to his left elicited a low throaty but welcoming growl in greeting. Favoring his well-bred hellhounds above all manner of protections surrounding his being, Satan did not disappoint the beast. He reached into a pocket on his black silken cowl and produced dried knuckle bones from some form of beast of burden processed through one of his many slaughterhouses.

The hounds perked up to attention even more but did not lift their hind quarters from their perches. Satan, recognizing their obedience and training stepped closer to the one who’d vocally greeted him. He adjusted one of the knuckle bones wrapped in the taught leathery skin of whatever creature it had been cut from into position between his thumb and pointer finger.

Shadowed by the size of his master’s girth and height, being broad shouldered and twelve feet in height, not to mention the thick curved black horns growing circularly out the sides of his temples like a ram, the hound did not quake in front of his archdemon lord. He was his most sacred charge. Protecting the master meant everything and this often morning ritual of being offered a treat from him was a welcome one. If any other besides the sentinels present, the fortress steward, or their lord had attempted approach, the nearly five-hundred-pound beast would have rendered whatever it was limb from limb.

Satan likewise did not flinch from approaching the impressive purposely bred killing machine. Taking personal time with all of his hounds’ training, they were, in his opinion, the most loyal creatures in all of his service. No greed or political venue scarred their minds with thoughts of treachery or personal gain. He took great pride in their obedience. There was nothing in the entirety of Hell his hounds wouldn’t attack without a second thought on his command, no matter the odds. Not even the looming presence of a great dragon, or Leviathan itself, would make his hounds balk at their duty.

Hand outstretched, Satan could see the excitement in his hound’s eyes as they dilated in anticipation of the leathery crunchy treat. Other than that, his hound didn’t move. Not even a flinching muscle throughout its frame could be seen for he could have easily seen it on the bulging muscles seen even now through the thick hide of the virtually hairless hound.

Nearing to an inch from its nose, the hound’s breathing intensified as it caught the scent of its reward. Finally, Satan offered the treat with a slight toss in the air. “Here.”

Fast as a viper snatching passing prey, the hound was crunching on his treat before stepping forward and lowering its head to nudge Satan’s thigh with the top of his head. The sentiment welcome, Satan did not make the other hound waiting patiently for his hopeful treat wait any longer, tossing the other knuckle bone protected in his palm over to the anxiously waiting companion. True to form, the equally sized and dangerous guard hound caught his reward. Its crunch on the snapping jaws of the hound resounded in the morning cold, briefly echoing off the stone of the high tower.

With a wave of his hand to the sentinels, Satan dismissed his bipedal hounds’ babysitters, and ordered, “Feed them.”

No words necessary, the superbly trained brute demon sentinels at the end of their shift turned to leave with a pat to their hips, indicating for the hounds to follow so they could be removed to the kennels and their awaiting breakfast. With a curt wave to the door set in the portal, the opening craned open once more before closing on its own with their passage, leaving Satan alone on the forty square foot oval balcony extending out towards the eastern portion of his domain.

Moving to the stone rail, Satan drank of his heavy goblet cupped in his right hand and savored the taste of the sweet, chilled berries, as he waited the soon approaching sunrise. From his vantage he could see out to the coast of the Abyss on a clear day, but this late in the season and with overcast clouds threatening rain, he could only smell the distant waters of Hell’s single and massive ocean as an easterly wind buffeted against his chiseled facial features and bare chest due to the wind extricating his cowl from atop his shoulders.

Alone with his thoughts in the wind as he readjusted his slack garment out of comfort more than function, for his body could endure a range of extreme conditions, he scanned from the reddening horizon back down and to his right. His nearly every morning ritual started out the same as he began his inspection.

The position of Armathain Fortress, set upon the western edge of the rough square mile plateau rising sharply from near sea level, gave him great vantage of his capital and centermost jewel for his success. Not solely because of its militarily defensible position, but because of the nearby resources available. Where other kings struggled in comparison to his forces to keep their populaces and soldiers fed and able to fight, Armathain was in a resource rich environment.

Just a few short miles from the eastern base of the plateau and one could be walking on the shores of the Abyss Ocean. The ocean offered a bounty of food resources for those capable and brave enough to enter the dangerous waters. A dangerous prospect indeed, but one many defied.

Creatures that reside in the Abyss live by their own sets of rules and don’t abide the presence of land dwellers. Yet he had capable seafarers able to take bounty from the unforgiving waters, though few ventured too far from shore else risk running into the giants of the deep capable of engulfing ships whole. None more so than the great titan, Leviathan.

Satan loathed to think about the last known living titan and moved his thoughts to the south and southwest, beyond the city’s most distant buildings. Other kings were envious of what he controlled there.

While the vast majority of Hell was a series of varying endless wastelands ranging from parched deserts absent any kind of moisture for years on end to volcanic mountain ranges constantly spewing forth lava, ash, and all manner of noxious elements, he had ground capable and flourishing with fields of grain grasses and the few root vegetables edible in Hell. Pockets of such places were elsewhere on the continent, else no other population could be sustained, but his was certainly the largest.

There, his harvesters also raised domesticated herd animals. A dangerous prospect for sure, but one they were in good supply despite the risks. In Hell, even the ungulates found nourishment in meat. There was scarcely a form of life that wouldn’t consume another for its benefit. Even certain plants were known to consume the living as well as other forms of plant life.

Protections for the fortress plateau lie to the northwest. The southern edge of a razor peak mountain range, aptly named Razors Range, jutted up into the sky, making a natural defensive barrier, which was too treacherous for any enemy to climb over. His lands spread around to the other side of Razors Range, to the more typical form of mountains, name the Wyn Mountains.

Here, he claimed rulership, but in truth it was occupied by tribal and independent demon clans scraping out their pitiful existences absent a king to guide their way. Thankfully, no clans within the range afforded much in the way of a long-term threat, except the nuisance they occasionally offered his mining efforts for the mountains had hidden advantages beyond their natural defensive strength. Here and there were small valleys accessible by his miners who dig deep into Hell in search of the allusive and very sought-after iron ore needed for their armories.

To the north, running parallel to and between Razors Range and the coast was a forested area stretching over two hundred miles to the very edge of Satan’s controlled lands. The forests, ranging from deciduous like trees closest to the mountains changed to forested swamps and mangroves at the coast’s edge. The obvious lumber for buildings was an incalculable asset but dangerous in acquiring, like the fish from the sea.

Like the Wyn Mountains, the swamps and mangroves were not under full control of his forces. Pockets of deplorable tribal swamp demons and monsters more at home in Bellbour Swamp and able to defend their hidden underground and underwater dwellings from the likes of most weren’t worth the effort or losses to his hordes should he attempt to drive them to extinction. Neither could they ever be sizeable enough in number to threaten his city hence the nuisances in the swamps remain.

Above all, Satan looked to his well-guarded ramparts sat upon the entirety of the circular plateau’s edge, protecting the many castle-like structures harbored within. And naturally, their inhabitants. Of which he disdained most. Hell’s more well-structured and posh societies were a tedium he endured on a daily basis. Barons, wealthy merchants, and various other members of court plagued him with their endless games and pointless political infighting. The only position of note below king, in his opinion, was that of generals, seeing as they had direct oversight of the largest forces of power belonging to a king.

In all of Hell, there are currently only ten recognized kings and there hadn’t been an eleventh since the fall of King Valefar, more than two centuries past. With his murder, by his own hands around his throat, he’d snuffed out his loyal demons’ resolve and absorbed his remaining ten legions of fighters and all his supporting lands. That procurement led by his newest and now strongest general, War, arguably made his kingdom the not only the largest but also the wealthiest of the remaining ten.

Not wealth in terms of jewels or fine metals, but in terms of strength of numbers and the ability to support those numbers beyond even that of the naturally occurring landscape. That thought brought his attention to the vastly stretched out structures below the plateau.

From the largest temples in all of Hell to the lowly lines of pop tents scattered in no discernible pattern across the broken landscape was where the vast majority of where his power lie. In and about the structures below the plateau that stretched out for miles in a southerly direction was home to the soldiers and the commoners which worshiped him. However rich his lands were, more than the natural resources provided within his lands was needed to support such a vast array of demon species.

The answer, slaves. But not just any slaves. Slaves taken from opposing forces were common enough in the grounds surrounding the plateau, but that was not enough. A welcome foreign invader in the form of human souls first arrived in Hell thousands of years before Satan was ever born.

As the red sun crested the horizon, its light bathed out by the weather, the landscape dotted by orange firelight and cast in shadow lighted to a pinkish hue in the early morn. Satan rubbed his chin in contemplation as his eyes were drawn to one of his forging halls. Inside, he knew his forgers were continuously ravaging and warping the most important slaves of all into the semblance of capable fighters. Ironic, he thought, considering the fighters now shaping the ways of battle in the field were not truly demonic but instead were once human souls.

Beyond his stoic nature and resolute appearance there was a level of excitement budding in his essence. He had long foreseen that the souls of humans would be the determining factor for the inevitable destruction of all kingdoms opposing his domain and the declaration of the one prophesized true king of Hell. With his rise he would wield the power to rival so called gods and walk freely between the veils separating the realms for future conquest. The two most pressing and thus far known being the physical worlds of Heaven and Earth.

The warping of souls was key, he knew. Being one of the architects of such designs upon human souls fortunate enough to pass from their living mirror on their own plane of existence unto his was a phenomenon not fully understood by any in all the realms, but because of their unique nature in comparison to that of a demon’s essence, or even an angel’s grace, he knew they were the key to his victory.

When human souls first began appearing in Hell, the demons of that era believed them to be gifts of food and pleasure thrust upon them from some form of overseer. Rational and more evolved forms of demons dispelled this notion in a few centuries time, for the most part. The arrival of angels unto their plane, ironically, cemented the notion in place that there was no such thing as some all-powerful overseer, or God, relishing its beloved chaotic disciples with gifts of delicious pink flesh.

Thanks to the interdimensional travel of angels and their counterpart celestials, demons learned for true, Hell was not the center of the universe. In Hell’s histories, it is written that the cause of this entire discovery started when the first human soul evolved to the point of being able to descend unto another plane when its physical body perished, making life anew in whatever realm it entered next. Though he’d never heard an angel or celestial admit it outright and not under duress, Satan believed the histories of Heaven said something similar.

Goblet near spent, Satan returned his thoughts back to the present to forgo his fantasies of ravaging Heaven and Earth. Such things would come in time. First he must endure the long grind of bringing Hell beneath his heel. A process he’d personally been at for over two millennium but hoped was speeding up with the relative recent advances in creating more types of forged demons, thus making human souls even more valuable.

His optimism was not unfounded. The recent forging of a new type of soldier was going to replace the now centuries old advancement of skull demon forging. While skull demons could be readily produced by the legion in no time and wrought havoc through sheer number when they’d first arrived on the battlefronts, now the secret of their creation had been out for a long time. All of the kingdoms counted skull demons among their ranks.

While they would likely never outlive their usefulness, skull demons were also in need of augmenting or replacing in some fashion due to their inherent hazards and pitfalls. The first and foremost issue with the reformed human souls turned demons, warped and robbed of their humanity, was their lack of intelligence and unwillingness to be in close quarters with any of the natural demon races. Even allies. While battlefield commanders could command their respect in short order, they could not mingle with the masses of various other types of demons for any significant amount of time else discipline would break down and infighting would ensue.

Better treated as shock troops, skull demons were created in mass, formed to a semblance of order, marched to the battlefronts, and unleashed upon an enemy. Their sheer number and ferociousness could splinter lines and overwhelm an enemy’s forces, although just weakening the enemy for the more formed and disciplined thousands of true demons marching in behind them benefit greatly with huge reductions in their losses. Keeping true demon numbers strong. An effective battle strategy employed now by all.

In an ever-changing and chaotic world bent on the destruction of one another’s kingdoms, Satan had his forgers always searching, always experimenting, for the next strategic advantage.One which his most trusted forger, Darrannauch, had been working on for years and was finally set to provide his evidence of a superior forged soldier.

Excited for the demonstration Darrannauch had been stalling on presenting for months, but was now hours away, Satan quaffed the last of his morning uva and turned to re-enter his fortress to don his armor, so he was presentable and distinguished when looking down upon his guests from his throne.

Two steps returned, the sound of distant thunder caught his perceptive ears, and yet, he knew it was not thunder. His keen ears knew the difference. It was the familiar sound of the veils between the worlds being physically breached far overhead. Looking right, to the north, he saw the distant trail of what appeared to be a fast-dissipating meteor entering the atmosphere. Rushing to the rail, he watched its full descent as it arced down and into the rising mist above Bellbour Swamp with glee.

“Ah, a treat befitting of this day.” Satan thanked, for he knew this was no mere shooting star.

Of the few things that brought him joy, none was better than the torturing and forging of fallen angels. Pompous beings meddling in the affairs of Hell for thousands of years, Satan despised the foul feathered creatures of immense power, capable of thwarting many times their own number when they take it upon themselves to get involved in Hell’s affairs. Yet there was a silver lining he’d discovered long ago. When angels, and to a lesser extent the celestials that live alongside them, break the laws of Heaven, the ultimate punishment beyond even that of death is banishment to Hell. Worse yet, banished after being stripped of their grace, which like a demon’s essence, is what grants them their power.

An angel absent its grace is like a planter empty its soil. Ready to be refilled so something can grow anew. Learned long ago, an angel’s empty vessel can flourish with the right demon’s essence placed inside and a powerful ally will result under the right guiding principles.

Satan pleasured, “What a wonderful morning it has been.”