Infinity: Reborn

The war horns sounded at dawn, their deep braying echoing off the mountain walls like the death cries of ancient beasts. Captain Zagan pressed his back against the rubble of what had once been a merchant’s shop, feeling the rough stones dig into his spine through his leather armour. The acrid smell of yesterday’s fires still hung in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of fear-sweat from the demons crammed into the ruins around him.

“Move up!” Lieutenant Korax bellowed from somewhere ahead. “Use the fountain as cover!”

Zagan peered around the broken wall. The central plaza of Umbra’s fourth ring stretched before them, littered with chunks of masonry and the skeletal remains of market stalls. Beyond that, the inner wall rose like a black cliff face, its battlements crawling with defenders. Archers lined the ramparts, their bowstrings already drawn. Behind them, robed figures raised their hands—Paimon’s mages, now turned against their former allies.

The first wave of demons broke from cover, sprinting across the open ground. Zagan watched a bull-horned sergeant leap over a pile of debris, his massive frame moving with surprising grace. An arrow took him in the throat mid-jump. The demon crashed down hard, claws scrabbling at the cobblestones as dark blood pooled beneath him.

More arrows whistled down like deadly rain. A crossbow bolt punched through the leather breastplate of the demon beside Zagan, the iron tip erupting from his back in a spray of gore. The wounded soldier stumbled forward three more steps before collapsing face-first into the rubble.

“Shields up!” Korax screamed.

Those who had them raised wooden barriers overhead. Most didn’t. The mercenary companies had never been properly equipped for siege work—they were raiders and bandits, used to quick strikes and easier prey than fortress walls.

A ball of blue fire streaked down from the ramparts, striking a cluster of demons near the fountain. The magical flames clung to their flesh like liquid, eating through armour and skin with equal hunger. Their screams pierced the morning air as they rolled frantically on the stones, trying to extinguish fires that burned from within.

Zagan forced himself to move. He darted from shadow to shadow, using broken walls and overturned carts as cover. Around him, other demons did the same—a chaotic advance measured in heartbeats and corpses.

The sound was overwhelming. Steel rang against stone as arrows struck the ruins. Demons roared in pain and fury. Officers shouted contradictory orders. The steady thrum of bowstrings mixed with the wet impact of missiles finding flesh.

A massive demon with ram’s horns charged past Zagan, wielding a two-handed maul. Lightning struck him down before he’d gone ten paces, the magical bolt turning his armour into molten metal that fused with his skin. He toppled backward, smoke rising from his ruined chest.

“The breach!” someone yelled. “Make for the breach!”

Zagan looked toward the eastern section of the wall where yesterday’s bombardment had cracked the ancient stonework. Demons were converging on that weakness like water flowing downhill. He joined the surge, his boots slipping on blood-slicked cobblestones.

A defender’s spear thrust down from above, its point scraping along Zagan’s shoulder and drawing a line of fire across his flesh. He grabbed the shaft and yanked hard, pulling the startled demon over the rampart. The enemy soldier struck the ground with a wet crunch, his neck bent at an impossible angle.

The press of bodies grew tighter as more demons funnelled toward the damaged wall section. Zagan found himself crushed between a scarred veteran with filed teeth and a younger demon whose tail lashed nervously. The smell of unwashed bodies, leather, and spilled blood created a nauseating miasma.

Above them, the defenders had concentrated their fire on the breach. Arrows fell like hail. A crossbow quarrel split the skull of the demon in front of Zagan, spraying him with bone fragments and brain matter. The body didn’t fall—there was nowhere for it to go in the packed crowd.

“Ladders!” Korax’s voice carried over the din. “Get those ladders up!”

Demons hauled crude wooden constructions toward the walls. Most were improvised affairs—planks lashed together with rope, lacking the iron-shod points and reinforced joints of proper siege equipment. The defenders pushed them away with long poles or doused them with oil and set them ablaze.

One ladder made it to the wall intact. Demons swarmed up its length like ants. The first climber took a mace to the face, his features disappearing in a red ruin. The second made it over the rampart before a defender’s blade opened his throat. The third and fourth fell to arrows.

Zagan pressed forward through the crush of bodies, driven by momentum and the press of demons behind him. A severed arm landed at his feet, still clutching a bloody sword. Steam rose from the fresh gore in the cool morning air.

Fire arrows began raining down, their flaming heads setting clothing and hair ablaze. A demon near Zagan beat frantically at his burning cloak, the flames spreading to his hands and face. His agonized shrieks joined the chorus of pain that echoed off the mountain walls.

The breach in the wall loomed closer now. Zagan could see individual stones in the damaged section, could make out the faces of the defenders clustered above it. A human cultist with a crossbow. A bull-horned demon swinging a war hammer. A robed mage whose hands crackled with eldritch energy.

More demons fell around him. An axe blade split a skull like a melon. A spear punched through mail and into the flesh beneath. Lightning turned another warrior into a convulsing corpse.

The ground beneath Zagan’s feet had become treacherous with blood and bodies. He stepped on something soft that squelched under his weight—better not to look down and see what it was.

The wall was only fifty yards away now. Demons were scaling the rubble pile beneath the breach, clawing their way up over loose stones and the bodies of their fallen comrades. Defenders stabbed down with spears and dropped rocks on the climbers.

A massive stone block tumbled from above, crushing three demons beneath its weight. Their screams cut off abruptly, replaced by the wet grinding of bone and flesh.

Thirty yards. Twenty. The defenders’ faces were clear now, twisted with exertion and desperation. Zagan could smell their sweat, could see the fear in their eyes despite their fierce resistance.

An arrow sprouted from his thigh like a black flower. Pain shot up his leg, but he forced himself to keep moving. Around him, other wounded demons did the same—driven forward by rage, desperation, and the press of bodies behind them.

Ten yards from the wall, the great gates of Umbra’s inner ring began to swing open.

For a heartbeat, the charging demons froze.

Zagan stumbled to a halt as the massive iron gates groaned open, revealing the dark mouth of Umbra’s inner courtyard. His mind raced—another betrayal? The memory of Paimon’s flames consuming their siege engines two days ago still burned fresh. Which of their remaining allies had turned coat this time?

The demon beside him—a grizzled veteran with scars covering half his face—raised his axe defensively. “Treachery,” he snarled, spittle flying from his lips. “Just like that fire witch.”

Around them, the assault wavered. Demons who had been charging toward the breach now cast suspicious glances at their neighbours. The scarred veteran’s tail lashed as he backed away from a group of Belial’s troops. Accusations flew through the ranks like poison arrows.

But no blades struck from behind. No friendly fire erupted from their flanks.

Instead, the thunder of hooves echoed from within the gates as Umbra’s cavalry burst forth like a black tide.

“Formation!” Lieutenant Korax screamed from somewhere in the press. “Hold the line!”

Too late. The mounted demons crashed into the packed attackers with devastating force. War horses trampled fallen bodies as their riders swung down with sword and mace. The confined space between the rubble and the wall became a killing ground, with nowhere to retreat and no room to manoeuvre.

A cavalryman’s blade split the skull of the demon next to Zagan, brain matter splattering across his face. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he raised his own weapon—a crude iron sword salvaged from yesterday’s fighting.

The mounted warrior wheeled his horse around, bringing his weapon down in a vicious arc. Zagan threw himself sideways, feeling the blade whistle past his ear. He stumbled over a corpse and crashed to his knees on the blood-slick stones.

All around him, demons screamed and died. The cavalry had shattered their formation, turning the organized assault into a desperate melee. Bodies pressed against him from all sides—some living, some dead, all reeking of sweat and gore and voided bowels.

A horse’s hoof struck the ground inches from his head, spraying him with fragments of shattered stone. He rolled desperately, his wounded leg sending bolts of agony up his spine. Another hoof came down where his chest had been, the iron shoe striking sparks from the cobblestones.

The sound was deafening. Steel rang against steel. Horses shrieked as spears found their flanks. Demons roared in pain and fury. The wet impact of blades cleaving flesh punctuated the chaos like a butcher’s rhythm.

Zagan struggled to his feet, using his sword as a crutch. A riderless horse galloped past, its saddle empty and bloody, reins trailing in the dirt. Its eyes rolled white with terror as it fled toward the outer rings.

The cavalry was already withdrawing, their mission accomplished. They’d broken the assault’s momentum and left the attackers scattered and demoralized. Demons who had charged the walls with fierce determination now stumbled backward, carrying their wounded and leaving their dead behind.

“Fall back!” Korax’s voice cracked with strain. “Regroup at the fountain!”

The retreat wasn’t a rout, but it came close. Demons limped and staggered away from the walls, many supporting wounded comrades. The plaza’s stones were slick with blood, making each step treacherous.

Zagan found himself near the central fountain, gasping for breath as his wounded leg throbbed. Around him, other survivors gathered—fewer than had started the assault. The water in the fountain’s basin had turned pink from the blood of demons who’d crawled here to drink or die.

Despite the losses, voices rose in rough celebration. They’d survived the sortie. The walls still stood, but they were still standing too.

“Showed those bastards,” someone growled. “Come at us again, see what happens.”

“Aye, we’ll hold this ground,” another agreed, binding a gash on his arm with strips torn from a dead demon’s cloak.

But as Zagan looked toward the direction where their commanders had established their pavilions, his blood chilled. Black smoke rose from Lord Valac’s position—thick, oily columns that spoke of more than cook fires.

The command structure was burning.

* * *

Valac gritted his teeth as he watched the assault unfold from their makeshift command post. The ruined watchtower provided an excellent vantage point over the fourth ring’s devastation, its crumbling walls offering clear sight lines to the breach his forces were exploiting.

Without siege engines, his troops funnelled toward the single crack in Umbra’s defences like water through a broken dam. A necessary sacrifice—the concentrated assault would draw defenders to that point while others scaled the walls with hooks and ladders. Bodies piled at the breach, but that was the price of victory.

The numerical advantage remained theirs despite Paimon’s treachery two days ago. Twenty-seven hundred demons against perhaps a thousand defenders. Even accounting for civilian militia, simple mathematics favoured the attackers.

“Your expression suggests displeasure with our progress,” Belial observed, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement. The elegant demon lord lounged against a fallen pillar, seemingly unconcerned by the distant screams of dying soldiers. “Patience, my dear Valac. Time remains our greatest ally.”

Valac’s claws dug grooves in the stone parapet. “Time also allows that succubus to uncover whatever secrets lie buried in these ruins.”

“What could she possibly find that would matter?” Belial’s smile revealed teeth just slightly too sharp. “Even if she discovered some forgotten arsenal, we command the high ground and the supply routes. Four mountain passes, all under our control. No supplies enter, no reinforcements arrive.”

The logic was sound. Umbra’s defenders were trapped in their mountain fortress, slowly bleeding resources while the attackers could replenish their forces. In a war of attrition, the besiegers held every advantage.

Yet something about the succubus’s confidence troubled Valac. No rational commander would have made such bold claims without substantial backing. Either she was magnificently deluded, or she possessed knowledge they lacked.

“Still,” Eligos interjected, his steel-blue eyes never leaving the battle, “we should press our advantage while morale holds. The men grow restless with each passing day.”

Bael nodded, his massive frame blocking part of Valac’s view. “My soldiers are eager to claim their promised rewards. Gold and slaves lose their appeal when victory seems distant.”

“Victory is inevitable,” Belial purred. “Though I confess, I’m curious about this self-proclaimed Empress. A succubus bold enough to claim Lilith’s throne might prove… entertaining as a personal acquisition.”

Valac felt his lip curl in disgust. Trust Belial to think with his loins rather than his tactical mind. “She’s a threat to be eliminated, not a prize to be claimed.”

“Why not both?” Belial’s laugh carried an edge of cruelty. “Break her spirit, and she becomes a useful tool. Her followers would hardly resist once their precious Empress serves at our pleasure.”

The distant sound of hoofbeats interrupted their discussion. Valac leaned forward, squinting at the breach where his forces had been making steady progress. Umbra’s gates had opened, disgorging a tide of mounted demons that crashed into the packed attackers with devastating effect.

“Clever,” Eligos admitted grudgingly. “They waited until our forces were committed to the breach, then struck where retreat was impossible.”

The cavalry charge shattered their assault’s momentum. Warriors who had been climbing toward victory moments before now fled in disarray, carrying their wounded and abandoning their dead. The stones around the breach glistened red in the morning light.

“A setback, nothing more,” Bael rumbled. “We’ll regroup and try again tomorrow.”

Valac was about to respond when shadows shifted wrong in his peripheral vision. The ruins around their command post held too much darkness for the morning sun, and those shadows moved with purpose.

Six figures emerged from the gloom like nightmares given form. Shadow demons, their bodies wreathed in living darkness, stepped into the light with predatory grace. And walking among them as if she belonged there, a blue-skinned succubus approached with the casual confidence of someone visiting old friends.

She was beautiful—devastatingly so. Her pale blue skin seemed to glow with inner light, while violet eyes surveyed the assembled demon lords with mild interest. Purple hair cascaded over shoulders left bare by her form-fitting armor, and when she smiled, Valac felt an unwelcome stirring of desire despite his anger.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice carrying the musical quality that marked her kind. “How lovely to finally meet you properly. I do hope you’re enjoying the accommodations my city provides.”

The audacity of it struck Valac speechless. Here, surrounded by enemy forces and facing five demon lords simultaneously, she spoke as if hosting a garden party.

Belial recovered first, his predatory smile widening. “The infamous pretender graces us with her presence. How thoughtful of you to save us the trouble of dragging you from your throne.”

“Oh, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding,” she replied, examining her nails with theatrical disinterest. “I haven’t come to be dragged anywhere. I’ve come to accept your unconditional surrender.”

The silence that followed was broken only by the distant sounds of battle. Then Bael’s laughter boomed across the ruins—deep, genuinely amused guffaws that shook dust from the crumbling walls.

“Surrender?” Eligos’s voice carried the precise tone of someone explaining basic mathematics to a particularly slow child. “You face five demon lords with nothing but shadow spawn for protection. Perhaps that pretty head of yours took too many blows during your performance two days ago.”

“Indeed,” Valac added, his hand moving to his weapon’s hilt. “You’re just another succubus playing dress-up in stolen glory. Whatever tricks you used against Paimon won’t save you here.”

She tilted her head slightly, considering his words with the patience of a scholar examining an interesting specimen. “Tricks? Oh, my dear Valac, there were no tricks involved. Simply a demonstration of the natural order reasserting itself.”

The casual dismissal in her tone sent rage coursing through Valac’s veins. This creature—this upstart pretender—dared to mock them while standing in their midst? The disrespect demanded immediate correction.

Belial’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “Perhaps we should discuss the terms of your surrender instead. I’m sure we could find… creative uses for your talents.”

Her laugh was like silver bells, genuinely delighted rather than mocking. “How fascinating. You truly believe numbers and titles make you my equals.” She gestured gracefully to her shadow demon escort. “Stand back. This won’t take long.”

The shadow demons melted backward into the ruins without argument, leaving her alone facing five of the most powerful beings in the Wastelands. The implications of that casual dismissal weren’t lost on Valac—either she was completely mad, or she possessed power beyond their comprehension.

“Five against one,” Dantalian observed quietly. Her silver-and-gold eyes watched the succubus with calculating intensity. “Hardly sporting odds.”

“I agree completely,” the pretender replied with another radiant smile. “It seems rather unfair to all of you.”