Prologue

Demonology. 1. [n]--The study of any sort of supernatural being with evil tendencies, i.e. devils, wraiths, winged serpents, etc.

2. [n]--The study of the many citizens of the underworld.

3. [n]--The study of how a demon or demons can react inside various situations, habitats, et cetera; as well as how those within these situations and places react towards them.

On the morning that the demon child Armageddon Thanir Nazar Daka was created, many on board the Imperial Standard Ship had looked upwards to see a sky full of dark, swirling rain clouds. A sight like this had long been acquainted with bad fortune for their species, and any young demon born beneath it would grow up to betray their kind in times of war. As a result, special steps had to be taken not just for the infant’s sanctification, but for those surrounding him as well.

Lord Agnostikos Dana’Dir had been the first to enter the confines of Deck Three after Armageddon’s creation was complete. Here rested the various forges and sleeping quarters of the bladesmith caste, the only light coming from the glow of the fires within.

“What news from here below, Warden Two?”

Agnostikos glared coldly into the eyes of the masked Warden, carefully searching for any sign that hinted of falsehoods yet to be spoken.

“Another ashling, my Lord,” the lesser creature wheezed, bowing its head three times in submission. “Your old bladesmith, Wyddag, has proven himself yet again.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Short, loud steps sounded upon the metallic floor as the demon Lord approached the masses, frightening at least four ragged youngsters into scuttling out of his way. A few aging bladesmiths had gathered around a single bunk, their heads bowed and their voices low while discussing the fate of another in their midst.

“I cannot see if you are blocking my vision, muckrakers!”

Several pairs of dark, whiteless eyes focused upon him at once, their owners stepping aside just enough to clear a path for his inspection of the situation. It was here that Agnostikos saw Wyddag, a former soldier turned bladesmith, resting on one of the bunk beds; a blanket-wrapped bundle lying in the crook of his left arm.

“I do not believe I called for any more of your flesh to serve me, Daka.”

Wyddag glanced over his master’s shoulder to see his first four Created lingering nearby, their faces quietly alert for signs of trouble.

“ ‘Twas nothin’ but an accident, my Lord,” he rasped, nodding down at the bundle beside him.

“I must’ve not been holdin’ that hammer careful enough. One wrong swing, an’ I sent my hand bleedin’ into the coals; then this wee one came out of it.”

“I see.”

Agnostikos stared emotionlessly at a single tiny, white hand that had just emerged from beneath the blanket.

“And does this ‘wee one’ know of the trouble it can cause when it’s born under a black sky…?”

The expression on the old bladesmith’s face slowly changed from disbelief to horror.

“No. Wait, my Lord, please…he’s not even a few minutes old—”

“—You know a sky of rain signifies death for us all, Daka. You must already understand that with that uneasy tone of voice you give me.”

“I-I do, sir—”

“—Would you allow a traitor to live amongst you in this…establishment? Would you allow it to grow up in the shadows, always plotting against those in power?”

“No, no, my Lord! Never to plot against you, my Lord, but sir…”

He took a deep breath as the ashling let out a loud squall, letting him know that it had awakened.

“…Ye…ye won’t toss ‘im into the waves, will ye? Not after he’s already started breathin’?”

The Demon Lord’s face remained blank in response; and for the strangest of moments, Wyddag found that he was unable to breathe. Many older, stronger examples of their Race had fallen under death’s hand once Agnostikos had called for it. He had always known his master was ruthless, but against a mere child…?

“Very well.”

The huddled masses slowly began to relax as their Lord seemed to agree with the bladesmith.

“There shall be no ashlings tossed into the waves today. However…”

Agnostikos fell silent and stretched one hand towards the infant, whose wails automatically began to subside.

“…I believe that order and stability must still be upheld. A bladesmiths’ settlement is no place for the High Prince…is it, bludkinder?”

The title alone was enough to tell Wyddag his new place in this bizarre equation. No more would he be bludvater, the creator of another ashling that would grow up by his side, but rather bludkinder, a mere donor forced to watch his offspring mature from afar.

And even after he had placed the last of his children in Agnostikos’ arms, that single word would be enough to haunt old Daka for the rest of his life.

***

Agnostikos’ exit from the third deck went without complaint, for the bladesmiths and other laborers already knew their place well enough to not speak out against his decision.  The infant remained snug in the crook of his left arm as he traveled up the master staircase, carefully avoiding the commotion of the middle deck for the order and solitude of the first.  Once he had reached the Imperial chambers, the Demon Lord was met by the three Elders, each of them dressed in hooded black cloaks and seated in ebony wood thrones.

“Shi-ag mezir, Agnostikos?”

With one arm remaining tight around the infant, Agnostikos was careful to bow to each Elder in turn before speaking.

“A new arrival, my Lords.  Old Wyddag has a fifth ashling to his name.”

The Elder in the center throne nodded once; then slowly changed his speaking language from ancient Demonic to Standard.

“How came ye to acquire him?”

“Simple,” said the Demon Lord.  “One reminder to the bladesmith about dark omens, and he was all too prepared to forget the child ever existed.  It appears there’s a sacrificing bone in that beast’s body, but no matter…I believe I now have the heir we’ve all searched for.”

It was here that the Elders seemed to be paying attention, for they had straightened up as one unit and leaned forward to hear their master better.

“Your heir,” said the hooded creature at Agnostikos’ left.  “A bladesmith’s child upon the Obsidian Throne?  Do you think this fifth son of Wyddag will have the skills to obtain this goal…?”

“I know he can be trained,” said Agnostikos.  “Condition any creature enough, and you have your will upon him.”

With a low bow, he had risen to his feet and lowered one edge of the blanket to reveal the ashling’s face.  

“I present to you Armageddon Thanir Nazar Daka, the destroyer of the human world, bearer of the flame, and possessor of the blade of all blades.  May his coming signal the end of the impure and the unworthy of these lands.  May he lead our noble Race into a forever age of strength and glory.”

“Glory and strength unto the Heir of Shadows,” came the reply.  The time of naming was complete, and with it, Armageddon would soon take the necessary voyage to the Fiery Islands to begin his training.  Master Atig would be all too eager to see the High Prince, and the other key officials of the Tribes besides.  Agnostikos had done well in choosing his successor.

“My welcome unto you, Armageddon,” he intoned, taking his leave of the Elders and traveling to the observation deck.  Forty guards knelt upon the hard floor as their Lord appeared, their heads bowed submissively.  It was not until he had signaled for them to arise that they formed two straight lines, one on either side of the ship.  Each guard stood at attention as the face of their future leader was revealed to them, his title and name following close behind.

“The High Prince, Armag,” the Demon Lord announced, raising the wriggling bundle into the air.

“Your Highness,” the guards replied in unison, their left hands raised in the official military salute.

One second later, the silence was shattered by the sound of a firework going off.

“What in Doragaj’s name…?!”

A squall arose from the blanketed mass in the crook of Agnostikos’ arm, forcing him to use his free hand to quiet the infant.

“That’s enough from you,” he snapped, giving its tiny mop of hair a slight tug.  “Show some respect to your new Master—”

“—My Lord!”

One of the guards upon the right side of the ship had signaled to him, earning his attention by pointing at a dark object upon the horizon.

“My Lord, a Human ship approaches from the East!  Shall we pursue them?”

Agnostikos quietly observed the ship from afar, taking note of its massive size and sails that surprisingly only held two people instead of the large crew he expected it to have.  It was Naval in origin, and a war vessel besides—yet, there were no other passengers save for the man in a blue Captain’s uniform and the small girl playing beside him.  Her giggling could be heard up close by the Demons in spite of the distance between them, as could the subsequent tiny explosion of a second firework she launched from the main deck.

If he gave the order to follow, there was a possibility of his own crew taking the ship for themselves, as well as any gold or other treasures that lay on board.  And if they succeeded in taking the ship, they might receive the even greater pleasure of torturing two Humans at once.

It was not until he gave the ship a second look that he realized those passengers were not alone; for a second, much smaller boat was slowly making its way towards the first. Agnostikos and his hordes barely caught a glimpse of that group’s leader before their torches went out—a ferocious-looking fellow of a late age, dressed in a half-tattered red uniform with a cutlass drawn, muttering darkly to two ragged crew members beside him.

“An invasion, Lord Agnostikos,” another guard whispered excitedly. “It could be an invasion…!”

“Let us see if he dispatches the small thikra first,” Agnostikos whispered back, setting Armag sideways upon the deck so that both of his hands were free.

“He looks savage enough. We may see some fair bloodshed before this night is out.”

The ‘savage’ did not go straight for the dark-haired little girl who had been playing on the clipper’s deck, yet what did happen seemed to pass before the Demons’ eyes so quickly that they thought they had missed something. In the first minute, a sharp throwing knife sailed out of nowhere, shattering the only lantern that had been hanging from the crow’s nest. Faint whistles sounded as grappling hooks made contact with one edge of the ship, instantly taking a firm hold. The man in red, although beneath the cover of darkness, was easy to make out as he successfully boarded the ship.

And then, there was chaos.

At least fifty pairs of Demonic eyes looked on in barbaric glee as the man in red wasted no time thrusting and twisting his cutlass through the heart of the Naval Captain, striking him dead before the latter had a chance to even gasp. The small girl drew close to the edge of the ship, a piercing shriek leaving her throat as the murderer turned his blade upon her—but then, something happened that he didn’t intend or expect. In a split second, she had taken the cutlass from the hand of the dead Naval Captain, and in a swift movement had sliced a deep gash into one side of his
face.

For a moment, it appeared to the Demonic crowd that the savage Captain had been knocked senseless from the force of the child’s blow, for he stood very still as he traced the bleeding gash, almost as though not really understanding how it came to be there. Then, to their greater enjoyment, he drew his own blade and repeated the violent action upon the face of the little girl, cutting her deeply from cheek to eyebrow.

“Finish her off!” Agnostikos hissed under his breath, while several other Demon guards took up the chant in hoarse whispers.

“She’s no match for him. Perhaps he’ll take her head as a trophy!”

The man in red did not take the girl’s head, but instead was now grinning maniacally at the approaching Pirate crew behind her. They had rose up from the ocean like a pack of sea Phantoms; and in one swift movement, one of them had seized the girl by the arm and flung her headfirst into the waves below. A few air bubbles surfaced upon the water, then nothing. The pirate crew had taken control of the Naval ship, leaving all of its old personnel dead upon the decks. It was finished.

Back aboard the Demonic vessel, nearly all of the spectators had lost interest and retreated below decks for the night. Only the Lord Agnostikos remained with the infant, watching in silence as the clipper slowly shifted direction and headed towards a faraway port; the bodies of its former crew being thrown into the briny deep just as they had done with the little girl.

“By the Master, that fellow was the perfect fighter,” he said to himself in a low voice, not wishing to disturb the sleeping ashling.

“We may yet take a lesson from him, Armageddon. We may yet…”