Circle of Violence: The Boiling Plegethon

"Your too kind to her my love...but I do applaud you for such things" Said the voice of Violence, her heels clicking her tail swaying back and forth with her hands going around her waist in a hug with a mouth going to nibble on her shoulder "Though she does have a point you know...their will be many casualties of this War. But it is to be expected...after all War is what War is" Eve said with a smile, opting to hold Sirad close from behind

Shrugging Sirad said, "I am dishonorable nor do I think war is necessary but civil war in Hell would make things explode nonetheless, I had to choose." sighing into her wives arms she would continue, "But why would Gaia involve herself, is it not too dangerous, I feel like dear we are only getting part of the story, and this concerns me."

"If I know Gaia...its to help protect the world she created with her own two hands. It might be dangerous but its the only shot she has left at protecting Terra from threats and problems. This War is an honorable cause my dear but so is seeking Council. After all, many of your Princes want to fight but you know in your heart that this war shouldnt happen" She said, resting her head on Sirad's shoulder and looked at her with her one eye "I know this for I have felt it silly. Now come on...no more serious face. I am here so that means we can have some fun"

Shaking her head, Sirad would respond, "I can't sweetie, I want too really want too, but we have to do so when I am less busy. You know I would not intentionally ignore you babe, not even." breaking the hug she would stroke her hand over Eve's stomach and lean in to whisper to it, "Please don't be like my princes my darlings I need some good news."

Eve smiled and stroked Sirad's hair softly "Well...as your Wife and Prince of violence and Lust, I command you...to..." She said and grabbed her lover's hair hard and began to whip her around in a circle over and over again and tossed her towards the River of Boiling Blood "To take a bath!!" She said and ran after her, jumping hard and fast as she pushed herself and her lover into the River of Boiling Blood and proceeded to kiss her lover under river, giggling a little as she went up and treaded blood so to speak

Morthos stood at the bank of the Phlegethon. His tyrannical shadow cascaded over the writhing current that contained the shrieking and wailing souls of those consumed by violence in life. He sneered at their misery even as they skittered and slithered away from his fiendish presence. The archdevil glanced to his sides, where his honor guard - ten erinyes, all fallen angels of the Blessed Realm - stood at attention. The demonic vanguard roared and howled behind them. They could sense the climax of the hunt, and their barely contained savagery was only held at bay by the primal fear invoked by Morthos.

Despite their chaotic nature, the demons dared not defy the pit fiend. His word was law, and disobedience was met with a swift and painful death. The consequences were made clearly visible to them - testament to the mangled and dismembered balguras that now drifted through the boiling blood of the Phlegethon.

Morthos's fiendish eyes peered through the red haze of the river to look upon the gnarled and twisted forests beyond. He could feel the silent wailing of its inhabitants - and the dozens of eyes already being drawn to his presence.

It was time to act. The lust for battle could no longer be contained.

Morthos, the Scourge of a Thousand Skies, stepped into the Boiling Phlegethon without a care. He spread his massive wings - casting a shadow over the churning waters - and lifted his mace above his head. The pit fiend opened his maw and unleashed an ear-splintering roar that thundered across the Circle of Violence.

A cacophony of shrieks tore through the air as the storm of vrochs and chasmes surged across the reddened sky towards the Wood of Suicides. The darkened cloud of demons swooped downward towards the ranks of centaurs. Their ominous chorus of wails gripped the air like a noose while the spinagons unleashed a hail of deadly spines and javelins. Meanwhile, Morthos and his detachment of fallen angels shot across the churning waters like bolts of lightning.

The call and roar from the invading army was met with silence. An eerie, unmistakable silence that something was waiting for the army of Erebuz. What they couldn't see was what awaited them. High above in the skies, companies of Harpies flew with claws and teeth ready to rend those who tried to rise above the clouds of the circle.

A Legion of Centaurs rested at the far end of the river, bows raised high with one Commander standing infront of them "Today we devend this Realm from the Invaders. We have trained hard for this day, this one singular battle. Today we prove to our Lady that we are her unyielding soldiers and we will cause as much damage as possible. Ready!" She said and the legion of Centaurs raised their bows high. Their arrows however, were rather different. They wore special gloves with white runes on their tops and were holding Holy Arrows in their hands. "FIRE!" She exclaimed and they loosed the volley of arrows over the river and headed straight for the invaders. Where Eve managed to get Holy Arrows in Hell, no one could say.

Scores of flying fiends fell from the sky as the two barrages collided like swarms of rapid insects. Yet, even as their numbers thinned - another flock took its place. The centaurs' volleys clashed against the demons like a ferocious tide battering against a cliff. Layer upon layer of demons were shed from the mass, but it steadily churned ever closer to their positions.

While the aerial divisions advanced, Morthos and his guard dove, spun, and rolled to evade the volleys. The armored erinyes evaded the missiles with the grace reminiscent of the High Heavens. Some were even daring enough to bat the arrows aside mid-flight with a well-timed backhand. However, a few of the blessed arrows met their mark and caused the dark angels to stagger in their flight. While most recovered immediately, one unfortunate erinye's wing was pierced - causing it to come crashing down into the river with a sickening crunch and scream.

Morthos and his guard quickly approached the first island. The pit fiend snapped his wings open to slow his descent as he unleashed a primal roar. A bead of flame shot from his finger and expanded into a massive fireball that consumed the center of the archers' line. The earth shook as he landed in the dissipating inferno. Before the dust could settle, Morthos lashed out with his mace, tail, and claws upon any centaurs that were unfortunate enough to be within his reach. The erinyes landed at his flanks and struck against any remaining centaurs. Their hellish longswords flashed like blackened lightning and struck like vipers with their venomous edges.

When the island was cleared and the centaur guardians either slain or fled, Morthos peered across the river and studied Violence's defenses. He sneered in contempt at the centaurs' pitiful attempt to curb the endless tide of demons that poured from Heresy. It would only take a single command, and within hours the sky would have been blotted out by their numbers. Who in this realm knew that Morthos had the combined forces of three planes at his command? Tartaruz, the Abyss, and the Nine Hells of Baator all answered the call of the Dark Legion. They all heeded the command of The Unweaver.

Morthos merely smirked as he watched the demons fall like rain. They were doing their duty and occupying the enemies' attention and resources. Yes, he could call upon the full might of the Dark Legion and simply swarm over their defenses like locusts, but why not allow them a little hope?

Let them squirm and wallow a shallow victory until it is too late to see the jaws that have surrounded them...

"But..." Morthos said as he spread his wings and rose to his full height, casting a dark and twisted shadow across the earth. "... Let us ensure that neither of us will go silently into the dark. For every four steps we are pushed back, we will carve our way through five."

"Shebtaan vonah shebta'ai... Abkömri vonah velheit, kelrassen, wa'und aschaad... Davalru dyla shtadfan wa'und himfod mitaal zoxares!"

Morthos's shadow grew with each syllable of the incantation until it stretched across the entire island. Suddenly, the black mass lurched from the earth and formed into a gargantuan titan that slowly rose and towered over the pit fiend. Its body was forged of rolling darkness that churned like a chaotic sea. The creature's eyes were like pits into the endless void that focused upon the centaurs on the opposite bank with detached callousness. After a moment's thought, the titan stooped down and drove its hand into the earth. However, instead of pulverizing the ground, its hand dissolved into a pool of darkness that burned with black fire. The creature returned to a standing position with a large coiling sphere of darkness gripped in its hand like a bowling ball. A tremor shook the earth as the titan stepped back and tossed its encumbered hand backwards in a pitching stance. Finally, with a burst of movement seemingly impossible for a creature of its size, the titan launched the ball of darkness towards the opposite shore with a deafening crack.

The dark orb tore across the river like a meteor - leaving a shockwave and contrail of black lightning in its wake - before it slammed into the opposite shore. An ear-shattering explosion shook the ground within a dozen meters of the impact as a storm of black flames erupted around the crater. However, these flames were neither warm nor burned. They were as cold as the ninth circle, icy as death, and seemed to devour all light within its grasp. Everything that bore any semblance of life withered, blackened, and died in its presence.

Two words echoed within the mind of Morthos minutes after summoning his titan of darkness: "You Dare....?" For a moment the entire titan quivered and rippled like the surface of a lake in which a stone had been tossed. However after only a few seconds, a man appeared beside the Demon Lord, a man of unyielding darkness. Darkness blackened only by the presence of Erebuz himself.

He wore a large military overcoat, his black hair was combed back, and his eyes gleamed red like pits of the deepest part of Hell. He lacked a shadow; it wasn't that he was standing in someone elses, and simply didn't have one, or that there was no light on him. It was that he was Shadow.

"You dare summon such a creature without.......inviting me?" He growled, not moving from his position. Any attempt at retaliation to his presence would merely pass through his body and be covered in a black, goo-like substance that would proceed to fall off whatever it had clung to, and squirm its way back to his body. This man.... He reeked of Erebuz; almost as if the Unweaver himself had smothered him whilst in the midst of a wrestling match. However the only expression he had towards said Unweaver was contempt.

Finally walking forward, boots crunched the ground as he looked to the skies and took in a deep breath. His own body seemed...mist like, though again, when touched, would revert to the goo-like substance. He let out a long, growling sigh as he turned to Morthos, beginning to mutate hideously as wings began to spread from his shoulder blades. "I will clear a portion of the Shoreline for your armada."

And with that he was off, darting straight for the clouds.Once in the air he then darted straight for the Darkside, gritting his teeth as his eyes began to glow. There were so many Shadows here; so many that he could steal. As he flew low and fast over the surface of the river, Draco pulled the shadows from the Centaurs without their slightest knowledge, growing in size and shape whilst his Draconian body began to take form, wings spread wide and tail snaking back and forth slowly as if to rudder his course. As his body grew to its full sized, his maw widened and he let out a massive, thundering roar that rippled the water of the very river for miles upon miles up and down the water, and echoed and rumbled the very air itself.

With a great flap of his wings the entire River halted for a mere second while his body rocketed sky-ward once more in a sort of backflip. Then it adjusted course, and whilst folding his great wings against his body, Draco corkscrewed down until the slammed into one of the fortifications upon the beach, his body splattering like that of a wad of snot against the windshield of a moving car.

And for a while it remained that way.

Then it began to stir, bubbling and oozing and shifting around as if a heat had been lighted beneath it. Bolts of purple lightning roared from the surface of what was left of his body and from it rose many figures, all formless at first before taking the appearance of some of the most hideous demons ever seen, wielding axes and swords and maces of all shapes and styles. For awhile they marched like zombies to and fro across their spawning place, but as soon as they found their enemy; the enemy of the Unweaver; they began to moan, scream, groan, hiss, roar, and bellow with the pain of a thousand souls being snatched up at once and silenced forever, charging their enemies weapons flailing and bodies hardening for devastating blows that were strong enough to tear damn near anything half with a single swipe.

And in the center of it all stood the same man that had appeared behind Morthos not five minutes before, a smirk upon his face.

The Centaurs kept on firing, hell bent to halt the line of advancing aerial combatants with fervor and gusto. The leader of the Centaurs continued to rally her troops by shouting words of encouragement. They had been training for this for two years. Honing their skills, testing their mettle and their resolve. They did not waver nor did they cease their actions for even a moment. Pride beamed through the army as their holy arrows halted the advance of the beasts from above and with the army so far away, having to need hours to reach them: They felt like that had the upper hand.

Even as the huge ball of chaotic magic and fire rained down upon them, taking out at least a few hundred of their number, their resolve did not waver nor fault in its stead. But then, the glop of Dragon landed upon them and the demonic shadows began to form and charge. This was ahead of schedule and they didn't have much time to react. Several fell to their onslaught but they had anticipated for the enemy landing on the shores. "Retreat!! Phase two!!" The leader yelled and at the same time, the Centaurs halted their firing and as one fled into the trees of the Woods of Suicides. Their first task was done and now it was the turn of the Woods's denizens to carry on the task. Once inside the tree cover, a runner was dispatched and given a small stone by the Leader of the Centaurs. Something was going amiss in this conflict and they needed to alter their strategy. The Lord of the Circle had to be consulted. But at once, the arrows stopped flying.

All around the armies, the screaming of the dying and the damned: There was a very odd thing. While the screams and wails would normally be loud and as clear as day, the air shifted, a light breeze flicking past the host and the screams all fell silent. It was a deafening silence and the ground underneath their hooves and claws started to become a shade of grey. To the untrained eye, it was nothing. But to those who could see it, the color from the world was being drained away. The color moved towards the Abominable Sands.

The seemingly endless cloud of flying fiends doubled its pace towards the shore as soon as the arrow barrage ceased. Now that the centaurs were no longer present to quell their ever-swelling numbers, the storm would block out the sky above the river within hours.

Morthos took Draco's appearance in stride. He had heard tales of the latest edition to the Dark Legion's ranks. The pit fiend sneered at the destruction wrought by the shadow dragon's incredible power. Clearly, he would be a useful tool for the Emperor - and a worthy weapon for the Dark Legion.

He looked up to the sky to see his armada swarming overhead. Morthos sent a telepathic command to secure the opposite shore and await reinforcements. The command echoed through the ranks, and within moments the entire flock resumed their flight across the Phlegethon.

Morthos spun on his heel and knelt onto the sand of the island. He placed his mace on the ground and inclined his head towards Dis.

"My Most Honored Master..." he communed. "The river's forces have been scattered, and we are ahead of schedule. I beseech you for aid, great God-emperor and Lord of the Void, in order for your army to cross the channel..."

"My most loyal servant..." Morthos's body quivered in ecstasy as his Master's voice reverberated in his mind. "Hearken, and look now upon my glory. Gaze upon the power that so easily brought your former master to heel!"

The earth shook on Heresy's side of the river. Demons screamed in terror as every shadow quivered in both fear and reverence. A deafening roar sent tremors through the air as a pillar of black flames erupted from the ground. Scores of demons were obliterated by its touch. The flames slowly churned as the dark miasma took form into a monstrous titan.

Its flesh, likened to onyx chiseled to perfection, was blacker than a moonless night. Muscles the size of boulders flexed like steel beneath flawless skin - skin marred with countless scars that blended seamlessly together like paint on an artist's canvas. Two gargantuan wings spread out from the titan's back and cast an endless shadow upon the river. Raw and pure darkness cascaded over the appendages and covered the glorious ebony plumage like a shroud. The wings would gradually shift from the magnificent wings of a raven to the mangy ones of a bat, and then back again with a barely perceivable transition. A pair of horns, like charred mountains, protruded from the giant's forehead, but its eyes... His terrible eyes... They were blacker and deeper than the most crushing abyss. A thousand eternities rested within their depths, and they radiated an unfathomable power that would give most deities pause. Those all-knowing pits narrowed their gaze upon opposite shore of the Phlegethon, pierced through the Wood of Suicides, brushed aside the storm of the Sundering Sands, and looked upon the Temple of Paradise Lost.

The Avatar of the Dark Emperor Erebuz, the Great Unweaver and Destroyer of All Things, sneered in amusement.

Erebuz, without breaking His gaze from the Temple, lifted His clawed hand to waist height with His palm facing upward. With the slightest flex of will, the great elder-god caused a large chunk of rock with several lesser demons on it to be ripped from the earth and float above his grip. The demons flailed as they and the rocks drifted helplessly in orbit around the central chunk. They gradually spun faster and faster until they began slamming together at blurring speeds. Though the demons were all dead, Erebuz clenched his hand slightly and they spun even faster. However, though the velocity increased, they were drawn inward towards the massive stone. Soon only a cloud of gore and dust were left of the demons, yet Erebuz continued. He clenched again, and the maelstrom in his palm glowed from the invisible pressure. Blood ignited form the heat while bone was crushed and rock melted.

Yet the pressure intensified.

A deafening roar thrummed above His palm as the on-looking demons and devils gazed upon their Master in awe. Now the ball of molten dust and flesh was merely a sphere of super-heated matter that continued to spin at Erebuz's whim. It was only with the barest of will that He crushed the sphere of turbulent matter. A strong breeze blew around the elder god now, centralized upon His creation, that steadily grew into a whipping gale. Suddenly, with a thunderous crack, the ball ignited into a blinding light that burned like a furnace. Even the closest demons screamed in agony as their flesh ignited from the heat and boiled from the radiation...

They fled from the young star that was born in Erebuz's palm...

Yet the pressure intensified.

The burning white-hot star was only the size of an elephant now, yet it burned with the same fury of the fiendish creatures it was forged from. A moment passed, it shifted blue, and then to red, yet His will on the celestial object was absolute. With a growl that sounded like mountains shifting, the God-emperor flexed His hand one final time - and the star died with a scream as it was crushed by His power. The sphere vanished, only to be replaced by a coin-sized void. Suddenly the powerful gales increased tenfold as the circle of darkness expanded millimeter by millimeter.

Finally, with a flick of His wrist, Erebuz tossed the black hole a hundred meters away over the Phlegethon.

"Come forth, my servants." He Spoke. "It has been too long since you have witnessed the Realms of Light. Come forth, my beloved Erebim, and pillage the cosmos once more!"

Several looming black shapes slid out from the crushing darkness of the void. They were vessels, floating just above the river's surface, and black as starless space. A score of them emerged from the black hole, one by one, until they were erected in a line by the shore. The hulls hummed with an eldritch energy that was foreign even to the Cursed Realm. Finally, hatches opened and ramps made of the strange black metal slid onto the beach - allowing the demonic army entry into the transports.

The Avatar of Erebuz smiled as His gaze remained fixed on the Temple. Once the vessels had fully emerged, He folded his massive wings and vanished like a cloud of smoke in a strong gust of wind.

The color, now moving at a feverish pace, began to drain away from the circle. The sands and waves of the river and beach underneath Morthos's feet began to turn to a brittle lifeless grey and black. The sea that now stretched before him was black as a moonless night. Eve was rushing and the screams of agony coming from her could be heard throughout the Circle.

When the chaos passed and everyone had gone quiet, with the river now dried, someone at the bottom stirred. Or something it was a colossal eldritch looking beasts more demonic than reptilian, it lay resting. Until an eye opened and surveyed the scene. At once it raised itself noting the change as it scowled and let out a mighty roar. Morphing slowly to a female the roar became a chuckle as it sensed an old friend, a friend it had near forgotten. A friend who they had disagreed with, and for that they were punished. Said friend was now free, well this would indeed be a mighty fine reunion, nonetheless as it stepped through the consecrated land it glared viciously, "What has become of this place? I sense two presenses other than you dear Lucifer... my brother Belphegore and oh, my oh my, this is certainly different. I think we can work with this, can't we." chuckling they vanished out of the once defiled land. Now they needed answers.

Sabnach has arrived, coming from Riverbank of Plegethon.

In a cacophony of obliteration, everything to the down vanishes.

In a cacophony of obliteration, everything to the up vanishes.

Sabnach has left the area, heading up into The Broken Slope.

Sabnach materializes from the void.

Sabnach vanishes into nothingness, but you get the feeling they are heading somewhere else.

Sabnach materializes from the void.

In a cacophony of obliteration, everything to the south vanishes.

Sabnach has left the area, heading in into Riverbank of Plegethon.

Sabnach has arrived, coming from The Broken Slope.

This area begins to push everything out of itself, a great expulsion of material into another realm...

Sabnach has arrived, coming from The Broken Slope.

Sabnach has left the area, heading in into Riverbank of Plegethon.