The sun rose over the city of Tarth, spilling golden light across its rooftops and domes. The sky stretched clear and blue, the wind calm and gentle, carrying the faint scent of incense and bread from the morning markets. It was another beautiful day in the holy city, a place untouched by corruption, where the Zarim people moved with quiet dignity.
Women walked gracefully through the streets, veiled and covered as their faith commanded, their children trailing behind them. Young boys darted through alleys, chasing each other with laughter, while young girls shadowed their mothers, learning the rhythm of daily life. At every corner, guards stood vigilant, clad in black, their presence a reminder of order and discipline. The city's many mosques and places of worship gleamed in the morning light, their marble walls untainted by decay.
At the city's gate, ten guards stood watch. Elliot and his companions approached, their steps measured.
"As-salamu alaykum, my brother. What brings you to Tarth?" one of the guards asked, his voice gentle despite his imposing frame. Elliot hesitated, his eyes narrowing. Before he could answer, Eddard stepped forward.
"Wa-Alaikum-Salaam," Eddard replied smoothly. "We are freelancers seeking work. We travel where we can, offering our services."
The guard studied them, his gaze lingering on their weapons. "Mercenaries, by the look of you. You won't find work here, my brothers. Our people are a people of peace. But perhaps you will find faith. Visit a mosque during your stay." He patted Eddard's shoulder warmly.
"We will, good sir," Eddard said with a nod.
"Unfortunately, your friend must conceal his weapon," the guard added, pointing at Adriano's massive sword.
"Most certainly," Eddard replied. The three quickly wrapped the blade in bandages, disguising its lethal edge. Once concealed, they were permitted entry into the city.
Within one of Tarth's mosques, worshippers prayed in unison. As the prayers concluded, the doors opened, and three figures entered. Cranel stepped forward, his cassock marking him as a Vatican priest. Behind him, Raymond and Jeremiah followed closely, their eyes scanning the room.
"As-salamu alaykum," the priest at the front greeted warmly.
"Wa-Alaikum-Salaam, my brother," Cranel replied, embracing the man. The figure was immense, towering at seven feet three inches, his long black hair cascading over Cranel's shoulders as they embraced.
"Cranel, I haven't seen you in twenty years," the man said.
"Hamza," Cranel breathed, marveling at his size. "You've grown… more."
Hamza chuckled. "What brings you to Tarth, my brother?" His voice carried joy, but Cranel's expression shifted, his demeanor hardening.
"Can we speak elsewhere?" Cranel asked, his tone grave. Hamza read the seriousness in his eyes and nodded.
"Follow me," Hamza said, leading them to a private room.
Inside, Hamza sat across from Cranel at a wooden table. The boys stood behind Cranel, silent and watchful.
"These two are lively," Hamza remarked sarcastically.
"They are simply burdened by the grievous situation we face," Cranel replied.
"And this situation is?" Hamza pressed.
Cranel's red eyes gleamed. "Demon forces will attack Tarth. I don't know when, but soon. Their numbers will be great. There will be death. You must alert the council and prepare."
Hamza's brow furrowed. "Demon forces? None have entered these lands since you and I defeated the Count. Why now?"
Cranel shook his head. "I am not one for fine print. Where sharks smell blood, they hunt. And I have brought my pups." He gestured to the boys.
Hamza sighed. "Seems like you. I will tell the council. We will—"
Before he could finish, a young man burst through the door, panting. "Ustadh! The head of the city watch reports great demonic forces, two kilometers from the city!"
Cranel rose instantly. "Guess I'm late. Boys, prepare yourselves. We hunt."
"Cranel, are you leaving the city?" Hamza asked.
"My boys won't, but I will. I need to scout what we're up against," Cranel replied.
"Bring me that information," Hamza said firmly.
"I will," Cranel promised, turning to leave.
"Allah be with you," Hamza said.
"God bless you as well, brother," Cranel answered, departing with the boys.
Meanwhile, in the midst of the demon host marching upon Tarth, Lucifer sat within his palanquin. His expression was cold, calculating, his eyes scanning the horizon.
"Valefor, where is Lenen? I do not sense his magic within the horde," Lucifer asked.
"The boy was placed in the rearguard with his brother. Their forces are still clearing the small town we passed a kilometer back, ensuring no ambush," Valefor explained.
"Is Tarth in sight?" Lucifer asked.
Valefor chuckled. "Right in front of us, my lord."
Lucifer's lips curled faintly. "Stop the march. Let us princes congregate before we lay siege."
"Yes, my lord," Valefor replied.
In the center of a burning town, Lenen stood amidst chaos. His face was twisted with horror and anger as his demonic forces pillaged, slaughtered, and committed unspeakable acts. A paladin captain, his blade drenched in demon blood, charged at him.
"I'll drag as many of you to hell as I can! Go back, demon!" the captain roared, his sword igniting with fire.
But as he closed in, he faltered. Lenen's eyes held genuine sadness. In a flash, Lenen seized him by the neck.
"I find no pleasure in killing you, sir," Lenen whispered, snapping his neck. The body crumpled, and Lenen walked on, his bloodlust seeping into the air.
Nearby, Ukobathan stood grinning, his armor drenched in crimson, his sword dripping. A platoon of paladins lay dead at his feet.
"Kill every human! Make the horde proud!" Ukobathan bellowed.
"That's enough!" Lenen commanded, his voice firm. "We leave. The horde approaches Tarth."
Ukobathan sneered. "Brother, you forget yourself. This is my rearguard. I command here, not you."
"True," Lenen replied coldly. "And I advise you to move. Now." His bloodlust filled the air, suffocating. Ukobathan froze as Lenen walked past, the rearguard following him.
I need to kill him. No matter what, Lenen will die in Tarth, Ukobathan thought, resentment festering.
The seven princes stood across from each other as the horde halted a kilometer from Tarth's gates. The demons roared, eager for carnage.
"My fellow princes," Lucifer said, his voice carrying authority. "Tarth lies before us. Lilith may be within, but our intel says we must secure the Springs before she does. How shall we proceed?"
"A siege wastes time," Satan growled. "We strike fast. Decimate the gates. Leave blood and fire in our wake."
"I agree," Abaddon said. "The horde craves carnage. Give them carnage."
Lucifer turned to Beelzebub. "Your senses are unmatched. Have the humans begun their defenses?"
Beelzebub's eyes gleamed. "Yes. They prepare for siege. But one human stands beyond the walls. His magic concealed, yet potent."
"Where?" Satan demanded eagerly.
Beelzebub pointed skyward. A cloud shifted, revealing a lone man floating above.
Satan's bloodlust erupted, saturating the battlefield, felt even within Tarth.
Intimidate me? Keep your bloodlust on a leash, Cranel thought, unleashing a wind slash. The attack tore through the horde, killing demons in a single stroke.
"THIS HUMAN IS INCREDIBLE!" Satan shouted, exhilarated.
Lucifer's eyes narrowed. "Valefor, blow the war horn."
The horn's mournful cry echoed across the land. Cranel descended, landing atop Tarth's walls.
"Tell Hamza," Cranel said, grinning. "The demons approach. Fast."