The Grim Legion

by Kindred Ult

  "Very honorable." Lucifer gloated.

  "Shut up." Demenn watched as other werewolves ran to the dead ones, some morphed into their human forms. They were women, mourning for their dead mates.

  "But at least you became a fourth class that day, and almost got to third class."

  "I'm done." Demenn looked away.

  "No you're not." The scene shifted to more recent moments, of Demenn killing the bandits, mike, and the werewolves. He watched himself rip Wulf's limbs from him before taking his heart, then kill the two vampire slayers. "It's okay, they obviously weren't innocent." Then he was staring into Nasoren's eyes and making her do his will, and then at the end of it all he watched himself brutally attack Darius, which had happened only minutes before. "Carnal pleasures indeed."

  The scenes flashed before him, switching back and forth between scenes of his life and memories. Their paced increased, until he could barely see what was happening anymore, until finally they stopped, and he was back on the cliff with Lucifer, who grinned in exultation.

  "You see, Demenn? You cannot deny me. You've lived a life of sin, and now you think that you can throw that all away and pretend to be righteous? You are a hypocrite of the first order. Your master would be ashamed of you had he not been killed already. If I recall correctly, it was while you were away killing Wulf's brother, was it not? You knew that his health was deteriorating, but you left him anyway, even though he depended on you to defend him. You abandoned him for revenge, now isn't that rich? No, Demenn, you cannot disobey me now after having obeyed me all of your life. You are mine, you have always been mine. You have always been," he chuckled "scum. Now get down on your knees and call me your master." He changed then, his face remained beautiful, but it seemed so much more dangerous. He looked like a ruler of a great nation, and his eyes brooked no disagreement.

  Slowly, as if Lucifer's gaze alone forced him to his knees, Demenn fell down. He looked up, and wanted nothing more than to deny everything that Lucifer said, but he knew it was all true. The weight of the lives he had ended seemed to weigh him down, forcing him onto his hands and knees.

  "Say it." Lucifer's voice was filled with exultation, and his face was a mask of victory.

  "Y-You are," Demenn sputtered, before he felt a burning in his chest like he had never felt. He reached his hand to his neck and tugged on the chain frantically. It pulled taught from his neck, and the pain subsided, but then the silver cross on it fell out into the open. It burned his eyes to look at it, but when he did, memories came unbidden to him. Memories he had forgotten even before he had become a vampire. This was her cross, his sister's cross.

  The scenery around him shifted. They were back in the field where his parents and sister had died, but this time Wulf and his brother had left and Demenn saw himself running to his dead relatives. When he got there, he saw his sister with her hands clasped around her neck. She was naked and bleeding, but she was smiling. He ran to her and grabbed her, and her hands fell apart, revealing the silver cross in them. Words came unbidden to his mind from when she had been alive. He remembered her laughing and crying, but most of all he remembered her teaching him, especially what the cross meant. He had forgotten, but now it rang clearly in his mind.

  "This is a symbol of redemption, little brother. It means that we don't have to save ourselves because we can't. If we want, we can be forgiven and redeemed, so don't hate, but forgive."

  Lucifer looked around in disgust, and the scene changed back to the cliff. He looked down at Demenn, who was looking at the cross. Demenn said something.

  "What was that?"

  "I said thatyou are wrong. I do not want revenge, I want redemption!" Light burst from Demenn, and it blinded him. He heard a scream, but did not know whose it was. All he felt was pain, as the light seared at him. As suddenly as the light came, though, it was gone, and so was Lucifer, and the cliff. He was back in the domed building, and Dimitrious was standing above him, his hand turned to metal and about to plunge down. Demenn shot his hand up and caught his wrist, forcing the stab to the side, and then he reached into his shirt and grabbed the cross.

  Pain, like he had never felt before, even in his most agonizing moments, shot through him, and he could feel his hand start to burn. He fought past the pain, though, and yanked the cross from its necklace. Dimitrious froze when he saw the cross, and Demenn could tell that it was burning his eyes. He forced himself to not look at his hand, which felt like it was beginning to melt off, and only looked at Dimitrious as he shot up to his feet, pulled Dimitrious towards him with his grip on his wrist, opened his hand with the cross in it, and then slammed it into Dimitrious' forehead.

  Demenn thought that he had heard someone scream before, in fact, he had heard many people scream as they died in most hideous and pathetic ways, but when the cross connected with Dimitrious' forehead and flames shot out from it, a sound came from his throat the likes of which he had never heard. Dimitrious' scream shook the entire domed building, and many of the other vampires fell to the floor with their hands over their ears. It was all Demenn could do to keep his grip on Dimitrious, despite the pain in his ears and the agony that permeated his entire body from his hand. He knew that he could not get out of here alive if he killed Dimitrious, though, so he leaned in close and yelled into Dimitrious' ear. Even though he yelled, it sounded like only a whisper to him.

  "Send me out of here, old one, or I swear you will die here."

  Even though no reply was made, in seconds Demenn was no longer in the domed room. In fact, he was in his own room with all of his weapons scattered around him. Instantly he let go of the cross in his hand and fell to the floor, clutching his hand. He rolled about on the floor, smashed his hand into the ground several times, cursed and grunted, and yet the pain still would not go away. It felt like seven levels of Hell all converging on one spot of his body, and it was only getting more painful. Finally, the pain hit a crescendo, and, for the second time in as many minutes, he blacked out.

  - 10 -

  Council of War

  19

  Council of WarOthniel stood over Sophella, who was kneeling, and looked over her shoulder. In her hands she held a normal-looking human skull, and she was concentrating on it intently. He thought that she looked like a work of art in her pose, and could not suppress a snicker, which earned him a smack on the back of his head by Skull, who was also watching Sophella work. Niethel turned around and eyed Skull, mouthing "Watch it, buddy," with his lips. Skull immediately set up a mind-link between the two of them.

  "You have something to say?"

  "Yea, bite me." Niethel replied while rubbing the back of his head.

  "I thought that was your job, and while we're at it, be respectful when my sister is practicing her art."

  The word "art" only made Niethel think about her contemplating the skull even more, and he could not help but chuckle once again.

  Skull pulled back his staff and swung it at him again, but this time he was paying attention, so he ducked under it.

  "Hah, missed me, punk."

  "You're only good at dodging, pussy." Skull shot back with his thoughts.

  Niethel's eye twitched, and he smiled for a half-second before he was on top of Skull and they were rolling around the ground, flailing at each other. Just when he got on top and had Skull's head in the crook of his arm and starting choking him, he felt a blunt object slam into the back of his head again. He let go of Skull and spun around while standing up, so that he was looking right at Sophella.

  "Shut up." She shot through their minds before turning back to her skull.

  "Yes ma'am." They both replied, then looked at each other and squinted their eyes.

  "You're whipped." Skull snorted.

  "Look who's talking. At least it's not my sister."

  They could have gone on for far longer, but at that moment, Sophella stood with the skull in her hands, speaking slowly. Purple lines flowed at right angles across the skull, and she lifted it up into the air. Her a
rms stretched out, and when she said the final word, purple flames burned inside the skull's eyes, and when she brought her hands down, the skull stayed in the air. It stayed levitating for another moment before beginning to shake back and forth as the lines came off of its surface and formed a sphere around it. It began to shake even more violently for a few more seconds, and then it was simply gone.

  Niethel walked up to Sophella, who was shaking slightly. "Okay, so what was that for again?"

  She did not turn to him. "You're an idiot."

  "Yep." He smiled. "So what's that for again."

  She sighed. "In the event that the vampires got the news of werewolves' lair from Varus, they should be having a council of war soon. That skull is to wait in the council chamber until the time."

  "Oh." Niethel still did not know what it was for, but he felt that Sophella was on edge, so he did not belabor the point. Instead, he decided to switch topics. "Do you think that Varus made it back?"

  "Probably."

  "Oh?" He raised his eyebrow in an attempt to get her to explain her thoughts, but had to continue when she did not.

  "What about Demenn and Leon and Raphael?"

  "I have no idea." He face was emotionless, as usual, and she stood looking at the moon. It just so happened to be that the vampire castle was in the direction of the moon as well. Looking at her there, with her face tilted up and her hands clasped in front of her, Niethel wanted nothing more than to walk up to her and wrap his arms around her. Even though her face was blank, he could see the moon in her eyes, and they reflected sadness. Despite himself, he began to take a step forward, but he stopped after he had placed his foot on the ground. It did not seem right. He was not the one who was supposed to be wrapping his arms around her at the moment. He desperately felt the need to embrace her, but he fought against it. He seemed to be straining against himself, even as he stood in his place.

  Eventually, with an inaudible sigh, he turned and walked back to the camp the necromancers had set up for their first night on their journey to the vampire castle. He berated himself in his head, just loud enough that he did not hear Sophella offer up her own almost-inaudible sigh as she looked back to the earth.

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  Demenn was awakened by the sound of his door sliding open. He did not move, but he was reasonably sure that he could now. Footsteps slowly moved towards him over the stone floor, and he could hear whomever it was breathing. He lay silent and still until a hand reached down and grabbed his shoulder. Another hand grabbed him as well, and the intruder gave a small grunt as Demenn rolled over. As soon as his back hit the floor, though, he shifted to his side, opened his eyes, grabbed the hands with his own and kicked the feet out from under the intruder. She fell to the ground and Demenn shot one leg over her until he was sitting on her stomach. He had no weapon, so he shifted forward until his knees pinned her arms down, then reached down and placed his claw-like nails next to her neck.

  About when she screamed out and started crying was when Demenn realized that she was not here to kill him. A second look at her confirmed that she was a human, and a slave at that. He quickly got off of her and offered his hand to help her stand. Had she been thinking, she probably would have taken his hand, but she was flustered and frightened, so she scuttled away from him a bit before using his bed's frame to get to her feet.

  They stared at each other for a few moments. He in slight amusement and she in cautious skepticism. Finally, when he felt that he had given her ample time to explain herself, Demenn spoke.

  "Why are you in my room?"

  His words jarred her out of whatever it was she was stuck in, and she hurriedly bowed at the waist. When she came straight again, she replied. "I'm sorry, sir, but I was so startled that I forgot to tell you. You were recently promoted to a captain, and I'm your slave. They sent me down here to tell you that the council of war will be starting soon, and that your presence is requested." She was trembling again by the end of her speech; probably thought that he was going to bite her right then.

  'Humans,' he thought to himself. He had never wanted a slave, and had honestly never thought about what he would do if he was ever given one. The thought of ever becoming a captain had never occurred to him. 'Wait, what?!' He jerked his head back up, causing her to emit a sort of high shriek.

  "What was that?" He asked, his eyes focused on her.

  "U-um…" she stuttered. "Your presence is required at the council of war since it's about to—."

  "No, before that."

  "Oh," she seemed relieved to still be alive. "Well, you've been promoted to a captain, so you're in the council of war now, and I'm your slave."

  He looked above her and unfocused his eyes. Mulling over her words inside his head. A captain, him. Only in his most ambitious thoughts had he ever even contemplated attaining such a high rank. This meant that he was truly now one of the elite in vampire society. The day before he was simply another vampire. He was a first class, of course, which meant that he was higher than most, but that was nothing compared to what he was now.

  'I am a captain.' The thought slowly formed inside him, and with it came a mix of emotions. The first was elation, although for what he knew not. The second that came was much less savory, as he thought about his promise to Preatias. He had said that he would leave the vampires once his revenge was over, and now he was not only still with them, but was going to command them as well. He wanted to think on that one more, and to decide what he would do about this hypocrisy, but then a third thought hit him, even less pleasant than the first two. 'What if this was caused by Lucifer?"

  That last thought rocked him back, as he wondered whether Lucifer was still favoring him or if he was out of its good graces. The time to think about all of this was later, however, for now, he was required to be at the council of war. He took a step forward, but when his foot landed he realized just how weak he was at the moment. Adrenaline had overridden his senses when he had attacked the woman, and since then he had only stood, but as his leg buckled under him, he stumbled and fell to the ground.

  He hit it with a dull thud, and could not even muster the strength to move. The woman quickly turned him over, though, and as she stared into his face, he looked at her as well. "You would not happen to have any blood on you, would you?"

  ________________________________________________________________________

  A few minutes later, after his new slave had fetched him some blood and also helped him dress suitably for the occasion, a still shaky Demenn was walking his way towards the council chambers. He realized that he was very undernourished at the moment. It was customary to drink everything out of a victim, and he had not had a full meal since before he was captured. He resolved that he would have to go hunting or buy an animal from the market soon so that he could replenish his strength. After all, he was no good to anybody in this state, and he would not be able to fight off anything with his still-aching wounds, which was not even counting his throbbing hand.

  His slave, he would have to learn her name the next time he met her, had recommended gloves, and he had gladly taken them. However covered his hand was, though, it still felt like a burning rod was slowly being dug into it. The pain was nothing compared to how it had been the night before, however, so he decided to simply bear it until it went away. That is, if it went away.

  Even so, he walked towards the council chamber with a feeling he had never felt before. For once in either of his lives, he felt important. It was as if he finally mattered, and the feeling was very new to him. He wondered if it was a good feeling.

  When he reached the castle, he was admitted, and then escorted through the lushly decorated halls until he and his escort came to the door of the chamber. It was already opened, and Demenn's escort turned back as he walked through the large doorways. Most of the council members were already present, and when he entered, barely any of them took notice. He knew that each and every member in the room
had seen him and had catalogued his presence, but none of them recognized his existence. This comforted him, since he knew that far too much attention had been paid to him recently. It made him feel normal again.

  Even having only been in the council chamber once or twice, Demenn knew where he was meant to go. All of the seats in the council chamber were arranged to follow the sphere of the room, with seats farther away being higher in elevation. All of the seats stopped halfway through the circular chamber, however, since none were allowed to be considered on the same side as the Matriarch and Patriarch. The councilors sat in the chairs that curved with the room, but on the ground floor, laid out in a perfect line, were the chairs meant for the captains. Demenn did not know which unit he was to be the captain of, but he figured that, since he was almost late, he would choose the one that was not occupied.

  Unfortunately, when he looked for the seats, he saw that three were vacant even though the other captains were seated. This meant that three new squads had been added recently. He wondered who the two other captains would be. Thankfully, there was a gap between the sixth captain and the eighth, so he assumed that he was the seventh captain. Not wanting to sit in the wrong chair, though, he walked up to the eighth captain, bowed at the waist, and asked which seat was his. The eighth captain looked up, and Demenn recognized her. She was Valdivai, the former captain of the seventh squad, and the one said to be the best in terms of leading troops, whether in battle or drills. Her fighting style, which Demenn himself had witnessed, involved two short sticks with metal balls at their ends. Spikes protruded from the metal balls and curved out to make them look like a longer version of the back of a battle hammer or a kama. Rumor had it that she was also quite sadistic, but Demenn had never found out if they were true.