252: Interlude: Demonic Plane
Ko’tar stood at the forward tent, watching the giant rift in front of him, trying to work out just what to do. Half of his advisors were telling him to destroy the rift, while the other half said he needed to act fast and send through everything.
It wasn’t so simple, however. It never was, but it couldn’t be overlooked that the humans had managed to revive one of their gods. Even if he shut the rift, wouldn’t a god be able to just open it again like they did in the past?
Letting out a sigh, Ko’tar entered the tent again. Six of his advisors were standing around the table arguing, but all went silent as he stood there.
“Do we attempt diplomacy?” Ko’tar asked.
“Absolutely not! They are mindless creatures. We’ve seen them in battle!” Li’tar said, slamming his fist down.
Calmly, Ko’tar stared him down. “You may be my brother, but I am still your Lord and General. I’ll not have you yell.”
Li’tar seemed to realise his mistake before throwing himself on the ground. “I apologise profusely.”
Ko’tar let out a sigh. “As to them being mindless creatures, their trainee warriors are as mindless as our own, and regardless if they are mindless or not, the god certainly wouldn’t be, that energy pulse was unmistakable.”
Silence fell over the tent. Li’tar was still on the floor, head on the ground.
“Should we send out our own scouts then? They have made no attempt at our rift, and only a single group attempted the Red Mountain Clan’s rift. They were no match for the watchers, however,” Sew’La said softly from the back.
This was something Ko’tar had been considering. The lack of information was not helping, but if the rifts needed to be destroyed, they would be stranded there and left to die. That in itself wasn’t so bad, but if there was a god on the other side now, they’d learn too much.
He let out a sigh as he leaned on the table. Then bells rang, shouts were filtering through the tent from outside, as chaos seemed to take hold.
Ko’tar burst from the tent, rage coursing through him. If the different divisions wanted to fight between themselves again because they were bored, he’d make an example of them, once and for all.
That wasn’t the case, as the field below came into view, and he saw the army backing away from the rift.
A ripple caught his eye, as he saw a watcher thrown through, landing heavy on the ground, where Ko’tar saw two other bodies already on the ground.
They were making their attack?
“Form ranks!” Ko’tar bellowed, activating his army command ability, causing everyone to stop in their panic and begin to form into something resembling order.
There was another ripple. However, this time it wasn’t a watcher that came through.
A man stepped through in gleaming red armour. He appeared to be on fire, holding a shield made of pure flame and a sword.
Ko’tar was stunned. Just one man?
***
Marcus arrived in Portland under the cover of darkness, as it had just gone night, covered in his travel cloak.
They entered the city. He noted without being checked, as the gate was open. Walking through the streets, he’d have thought the place was abandoned if not for the odd light appearing in the buildings.
Riding his horse down the street, it was covered in wet mud and filth. Absolutely no attempt had been made to keep it clean at all. He even noted as he passed the inn was shut. It had just gone dark.
Even villages had an inn operating past dark.
“It’s completely lost order,” Marcus muttered to himself.
His target was the command barracks, anyway. Find out what was going on firsthand and set it straight. This was unacceptable, and he was sure not everyone here was incompetent.
Approaching the gates, it was the first set of guards he’d encountered so far.
“Halt. You can’t enter here,” one of the guards said.
Marcus removed his hood but still continued to approach when one of the guards raised a spear, yelling “Halt!” again.
Marcus removed his travel cloak now, revealing his armour beneath.
“Shameful that you do not even recognise your own King,” Marcus spat.
Both looked horrified as their eyes went to the King, before both apologised, falling to their knees.
“Enough,” Marcus said, bored with it already.
As both men raised their heads, Marcus was dismounting his horse.
“One of you stable the horse. The other can lead me to whoever is in charge right now,” Marcus said, clear command in his voice.
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They both scrambled to their feet as they rushed to do as they were told.
As Marcus was led through the building, the first thing that struck him was the smell of alcohol. It was everywhere. This was supposed to be the main command hub running the front line across the ocean, and it was in disrepair.
He also couldn’t help but notice that the guard leading him was walking rather heavily, likely trying to alert people, though Marcus doubted it would matter much.
Approaching a large wooden door, the guard knocked, but Marcus pushed forward, opening the door immediately and seeing exactly what he expected to see. A middle-aged man was passed out on the desk with bottles scattered on the floor.
Fury lit up like a burning flame inside Marcus, and he felt his aura flare up for the first time in years. The guard who had been standing at the door fell to his knees immediately, shaking, while the man behind the desk was still unconscious.
Turning around, Marcus glared at the guard.
“You. Round up every soldier in this town immediately. Ring the bells. If they are not standing in line outside by the time I get there, there will be severe punishment. Is that clear?” Marcus said in a near growl.
The man just nodded furiously, scrambling to his feet and stumbling as he ran back down the hallway.
Slamming the door shut, he turned back to the man, spotting a jug of what he hoped was water on the side table, took it and roughly threw it at the man, jug included.
The man shuddered back, shaking his head. “Wha… What is the meaning of this?” he roared.
After clearing the water from his eyes, with the jug crashing to the ground and taking a bottle with it, the man’s eyes grew wide.
“Excellent. It’s only your men who don’t recognise their king,” Marcus said bitterly.
He moved to the chair in front of the desk, taking a seat as he glared at the man, who was clearly trying to figure out if he should bow, kneel, beg, or if this was a nightmare, and as if to punctuate the issue further, the bells rang throughout town.
“Sit,” Marcus said.
The man did so immediately, clearly choosing to say nothing to avoid saying the wrong thing.
“I came to the town expecting to find a military stronghold. Instead, I walked in unchecked; everything is closed, the town is filthy and in disrepair, and when I finally make it to the man in charge, he’s drunk and passed out. Can you explain to me who you are, and how you’re in charge right now?” Marcus said as calmly as he could, but there was clear anger leaking through.
“Ye… yes, Your Majesty. I am Captain Bengi. I was promoted to power when the previous leaders were either killed or removed. Then two more deserted this place after some event in the capital,” Bengi said, trying his best to keep his voice calm.
“And you decided the best way to perform your duties was to ignore them and drink?” Marcus asked.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I was drinking because it sounded like the war was over. The demons retreated to the rifts,” he said, clearly hoping this would excuse it.
“Are the rifts gone then?” Marcus asked.
Bengi shook his head.
“So tell me, Bengi, when they flood back out of those rifts like water, what is your plan?” Marcus asked coldly.
“I… uh, I don’t know. I’m not on the front line,” Bengi replied.
Marcus let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Bengi, I will be demoting you from your position, effective immediately. You are to report to the capital for retraining. Leave tonight. If you attempt to run or hide, you will be found, and you understand the punishment for deserting, I am sure,” Marcus said calmly.
Bengi shook, clearly adrenaline was getting the better of him, but he bowed his head.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Go pack your belongings. You’ll leave within the hour,” Marcus said, getting up from the chair.
Bengi bowed but didn’t move to leave the room first. At least there was some hope left in him, if he kept off the bottle on the way back.
Walking out the front door, he saw the soldiers mustered. Most of them looked to be in disarray. Half of them were still drunk, while the others appeared to be young noble children, some of whom clearly should have been sent across and due to connections managed to avoid it. They all looked terrified, clearly informed at this point about who was here.
His eyes passed over everyone there. He needed a replacement captain, and it clearly wouldn’t be wise to go by rank if it was as corrupt as he knew.
Spotting an older man in the back, several scars on his face, a sour look, and eyes that spoke of seeing hundreds of battles. He stood out, however, because he was the only man in front of him who had clean, polished armour.
Not saying anything to the group, he pointed at the man, singling him out.
“You there. Step forward. What is your name and rank?” Marcus said.
He stepped forward, standing straight, with both his shield and sword ready to go.
“Your Majesty.” He bowed before he spoke.
“My name is James, and I have the rank of Sergeant,” he said, concise and to the point.
Marcus nodded. “And how many years have you been here? And do you have family ties?”
“Sixteen, sir, and no family, sir. I was an orphan,” James said.
Marcus nodded. This certainly wasn’t the best way to choose a leader, and he knew that. This would be temporary, but it was the best he could do right now.
“Effective immediately, you’ll be acting captain of Portland. I need you to have this town back in order and clean by the time I return from the front,” Marcus said to the man.
Immediately he heard some murmurs in the crowd, but they ceased as his aura flared up and his eyes turned towards where he heard them.
“Yes, sir,” James said, kneeling immediately.
“To the rest of you, what I witnessed today is unacceptable. My personal guard will arrive soon, and if anyone is unhappy with my decision, you’re welcome to join me right now to the front line,” Marcus said, again his eyes moving over the crowd. He knew it was a lie about the personal guard, but fear of their arrival should be enough to force them back in line for now.
“Then my last order. If anyone refuses to accept your captain’s orders, you’ll be directly disobeying the king, and you’ll have to answer for that crime directly. Is that clear?” Marcus said.
There was a murmur of agreement.
“Excellent. Who operates the boats?” Marcus asked.
A man near the back raised his hand. “I do, Your Majesty.”
“Excellent. Prepare a ship. We leave as soon as possible. You may leave to get ready, along with all the crew you require,” Marcus said.
He turned back to James, beckoning him over.
“Captain James, you will have your work cut out for you, but I hope your experience here will serve you well. You’re free to promote or demote whoever you need. Any deserters are to be documented. Any problematic individuals likewise need to be documented. I would stay; however, my window of time is short, and I wish to see the demonic situation myself,” Marcus said to the man.
“I will, Your Majesty. It shall all be done,” James said, bowing.
It was time to visit the demons, see if what Morlin said was true and diplomacy was an option, or if he’d lose his life in the process, this was a ridiculous gamble and he couldn't believe he was doing it, placing his faith in an artefact he had no way of knowing would even function as intended.