Despiadado

 

           At first, we thought we’d won. They had come from another dimension through a portal that we thought we ourselves had opened but as it turned out had been opened by them. We called them Demons because of their vicious homicidal nature and because of the resemblance of some of them to the demons of movies and video games.

            Two wars wiped out nearly the entire human race. We bred certain humans as Guardians, warriors with amazing abilities trained to protect the human race from the demon onslaught. One of the bravest of these, Jeremiah Black, had managed to close the dimensional portal at the cost of his own life. The war was won, but eradicating those demons that remained and reclaiming the Earth as our own went on for years.

            Then came the discovery of Sangre the Silent that the remaining demons were evolving into humans and other animals. It was he who led the great Unification, allowing both races to come together, survive together. We repopulated our planet. Generations came and went. The Guardians – now called Hunters – had become the elite force of warrior knights. They were thought to be obsolete and archaic. Their numbers became few.

            Once again we were victims of our own complacency. It had been a hundred years since the last Demon War. Civilization had built up again; the old cities were habited again. The world had caught up more or less to where it had been before all this began. Only the Hunters, their numbers augmented by former Demons converted to human, sounded any sort of warning knell that the portal that had once been opened could be opened again. These were disregarded as the ramblings of old men and paranoids.

            We knew that when their numbers became to great in their home dimension they would come here again. The portal opened in the dead of winter in the Sangre de Christi Mountains. Instead of the animals coming through, it was all Deathknights but mutated. They were still humanoid but they were bigger (about seven and a half feet tall), stronger and even more vicious.

            The Demon Army wiped out most of North America before we even knew they were here. The conventional armies were overwhelmed by the weapons of the new Demons, which were powerful indeed, capable of vaporizing matter and energy alike. The losses were terrible.

            The Hunters, once reviled and ridiculed, became the last hope of mankind. My father had been one; I had just joined, one of their few new recruits when the Demon Army appeared. Now the Third Demon War was in full swing and somehow, we knew it would be the last.

            My name is Moloch and I am a Hunter. I lead a cadre of ten Hunters, all new recruits. We, like most of the Hunters, had chosen a small town on the Yucatan Peninsula to make a stand, to turn the tide of the war. The name of the place was Ixamal.

            Like many towns on the Yucatan, it was surrounded by jungle and somewhat compact in nature. Unlike many towns, it had largely escaped the ravages of the previous Demon Wars because of its remote location. That would not be true this time. When the Hunterelder Agamemnon sent out a psychic call for all the Hunters to gather there, we came; some by conventional means but most by a new technique we had learned since the last Demon War, the ability to fold space and arrive in a new location instantaneously. There were well over a thousand Hunters in Ixamal, lethal killers all. We got suspicious looks from the locals that bordered on outright hatred. That didn’t bother any of us; without a doubt we would earn that hatred soon. Our very presence guaranteed that.

            We were soon made well aware as to why we had been summoned. The Demon Army, numbering well over 500,000 gibbering ravening demons, dripping foul-smelling pus and drool, were on their way. Why they had chosen this spot was occupying much of the Elders’ time; there seemed to be no real reason why the Demons should want to go to Ixamal or even the Yucatan Peninsula, but here they were.

            I had a group of ten Hunters who were my charges. We called ourselves the Orphans because we had divorced ourselves from our pasts, our parents; we’d cut all our ties with anything human because we knew that we would not survive this war. Dead men make formidable warriors; they have nothing to lose. I sat on the doorstep of a dusty cantina and looked at my charges; youngsters one and all. Part of me thought they should all be in school, learning useless information and trying to get laid.

            They were tough and they were hard; we’d seen a lot of battle and none of it was pretty. They’d seen their friends die horribly, ripped into shreds by demonic claws or barbecued by demonic breath. Of course, many had been vaporized by the new demonic weapon that we had yet to find a way to counter. These, so far, had escaped all of those fates, although many had scars to show their worth in battle. They sat around me now, boys pretending to be men, myself a man trying to pretend I didn’t envy them their youth. The things we had seen together…would continue to see.

            One among them stood out. His name was Despiadado and he was my right hand. Taciturn but brilliant in his own way, he was native to this area and he knew the topography well. His counsel had served us well a week past when we ran into a scouting party for the main Army while out scouting ourselves. We manage to herd them into a cenote that he knew about, where we simply used our psychokinesis to push them over the edge into the bottomless pools, where they might have drowned had not their skin been sensitive to water which acted like acid and dissolved them, screaming, into vapor.

            He was calm under pressure and a killing machine in battle. He had a better grasp of his gifts than did most of the boys, and no compunction about using them. While the others showed a whole lot of bravado, Despiadado had more of a quiet confidence in his abilities. He would make a tremendous Hunter, maybe even one of the best ever – if he lived through the night.

            The others waited, like all of us. We had been assigned as reserves, mostly due to our age and inexperience. Haaken was telling a joke to El Verdugo, while Sorrow, Refsingar and Pala gambled quietly in the corner, throwing dice against the wall. I wondered idly if any of us would survive.

            The Demon Army was finally upon us. We awaited our orders as we knew that we would be used to fill in where Hunters had fallen, or where the Army had exploited our weaknesses. Agamemnon was in charge of the Hunters, although Pelennor and Socorro both had equal say by law, Agamemnon was deferred to because of his experience.

            The villagers were escorted to basements and whatever hiding places could be found though if we were overrun they would afford them no shelter. Many of the villagers had fled already and of those, the vast majority would already be dead, killed by Demon scouting parties. Agamemnon, who was descended from Demon stock (some say from Lady Venema herself) had warned against it but as usual, the villagers ignored the experience of the Hunters and had given way to fear. If we had been listened to in the first place, we might have been better prepared.

            Spilt milk, that. What’s done is done and now the Hunters are the hunted. We awaited the first assault in the village, some looking forward to battle with bloodlust, others preparing to do their duty. None look forward to death but all accepted that death would take most or all of us that day. That was as may be, but if we could stop the Demons from whatever goal was theirs, we would die content.

            When the first assault finally came all of the chatter and horseplay in my cadre stopped. We all felt the pain and suffering of those on the front line, and when a Hunter died, a part of our souls died with them. Our expressions were grim. I knew it wouldn’t be long before we were called to the front line, to suffer and die with our brothers.

            Our losses were terrible. We were only a thousand to begin with and we were down to half that number within the first ten minutes. I felt Agamemnon’s call and we were summoned to a barricade on the southern part of town. We relieved a group of more veteran Hunters who were going to the North, where the attack was concentrated.

            Despiadado sidled up to me. “Their attack is well-coordinated but there’s something strange,” he said in a soft voice. “I am not feeling the psychic emanations from the Demons that I do from us, except for one. He is in the rear of the Army and whenever their disintegration weapon is used, I feel the psychic energy coming from him.” I nodded and relayed the information to Agamemnon. I got a very irritated “We’re well aware of that but we can’t pinpoint the single Demon controlling their weapon. We’ve attacked that area several times but we can’t get anyone close enough. Await your orders.”

            Despiadado had picked up the message. He looked at me with clear brown eyes. “I can,” he said softly, “I can kill the demon that’s directing their weapon.” I looked at him critically. “What makes you think so?” I knew he was more sensitive psychically than most. If he said he could pinpoint which Demon was directing the weapon, I believed him. But I would imagine that the Demons would protect the weapon director quite heavily. If we had 10,000 men we probably couldn’t get close.

            “I know the terrain. I could travel almost right next to him.” I shook my head. Transporting right next to a target, taking them out and then returning was difficult at best. Transporting left even the best of us disoriented for several moments, long enough for guards to raise the alarm and even kill the Hunter before he had regained his senses. This didn’t seem like a viable option and I said so, explaining why.

            Despiadado smiled and said “That would be true, but if I had a psychic link with you, the effects could be lessened. You would be the disoriented one, leaving me time enough to kill the bastard and get back.” I considered it. The plan could work, although there were a number of pitfalls. If Despiadado were killed, I would also die. The psychic backlash would fry my brain. Despiadado would also be nearly useless for several hours, too exhausted to fight.

            However, the opportunity was too much to pass. I communicated my intentions to Agamemnon and he sent back a terse “Do it.” From his standpoint, it wasn’t much of a risk – the worst case scenario was that Despiadado and I would die and that was a mere two Hunters. However, if we were successful, that could turn the tide of battle. I nodded to Despiadado and he smiled, closed his eyes and disappeared.

            I could see through his eyes, feel what he felt. He/I arrived in the Demons camp, which was strange and organic looking. There were Squidgens everywhere but they were of no concern. A pair of Deathknights and a Krueger stood in front of tent-like structure that appeared to be made of flesh and bone. Through Despiadado I could feel the psychic presence of the Demon controlling the weapon. I could also feel the disorientation that came from Travelling and I fought it.

            Despiadado didn’t feel it. His sword came out and sang and the Krueger’s head flew off, it’s razor-sharp blade-ended fingers twitching as black blood fountained from its corpse. The Deathknights hesitated a moment and began to draw their own weapons but it was too late. One was stabbed through the heart by Despiadado’s blade and the other took a psychic blast, causing the blood vessels in its brain and heart to explode. It collapsed where it stood.

            There were literally hundreds of other Demons nearby and at the death of the Krueger they began running to the Pavilion. Despiadado didn’t hesitate; he ran inside and there sat the Demon he had come for.

            It was huge, gigantic, maybe 450 pounds of fat, bulbous flesh. It pulsated on the floor, it’s eyes a sickly yellow and there were several hundred of them scattered on the sticky purple flesh of the Demon. A large spiked tail protruded from its anus but other than that it was just a blob. It had no visible means of locomotion nor did it have a mouth.

            And yet it made a loud squealing noise, and it let loose a psychic blast of its own. Despiadado got his defenses up only just barely in time and the pain of the impact of the blast on his shields chilled me to the bone. I sent all my own strength to augment his and he drew his blade and began slicing the animal, for the Demon before him was little more than that.

            The skin was remarkably tough but our blades are sharper than razors. After a few hacks, Despiadado pierced the hide and into the soft tissue below and once that was done it was all over. He continued to parry psychic blasts as the tail swished through the air and the thing’s death screams filled his mind. At last, blood flowing from dozens of wounds, it slumped to the ground, dead. Why hadn’t it just vaporized him? I didn’t have time to answer my own thoughts as Despiadado closed his eyes and Travelled back to the camp, collapsing to the ground. He was covered in the Demon’s foul-smelling blood and his own sweat. He had made it out just in time; the first of the guards had reached the door by the time he had Travelled out.

            I collapsed alongside him, spent. We sat there for several moments, trying to get our bearings. Amontillado and Pala ran up to us. “What the hell? Are you all right?” I nodded, and then smiled. “We’re going to be okay boys.” And I was right. When the creature had died, most of the Demon army was in psychic contact with it. The psychic backlash of its death had killed a good part of their army and our Hunters did the rest.

            We were called heroes for our deeds, although I have to admit I’m uncomfortable with it. There’s no time to celebrate killing a single Demon and winning a single battle. This war is just beginning and it is going to get worse before it gets better but you have to take your victories where you can get them.

            Despiadado was given command of my cadre and I was sent to Ecuador to train new recruits. There are lots of them these days – those who survived the initial onslaught would all be pressed into service. In order to survive, the human race will all have to become Hunters. Perhaps that is for the best, but a part of me mourns. What are we going to give up in order to preserve life? The cost will be high indeed.

Inner Demons

            The wasteland has its own beauty for those willing to look. Frankly, most people aren’t – they’re too busy getting the hell out of it before they run into something really nasty.

            Ever since the last war, the wasteland has been where the demons held sway. Most of us know from the tales of our grandparents (who heard the same tale from their grandparents who witnessed it firsthand) of the time when the portal to the dimension we call Hell was opened and the demons swarmed through.

            There’s nothing supernatural about it, by the way. Take it from me – I know. We ascribe these things to the Devil and to Hell, but these are flesh and blood creatures. Some of them are resistant to flame, others to cold, most of them are abysmally hard to kill but they can be killed, they can bleed and they can kill. The killing part you know about.

            Nobody knows precisely how the portal was opened. Some say it was magic, a sorcerer making an incantation from forbidden scrolls. Others say it was science, a government experiment to find proof of other dimensions that got more than the scientists bargained for. That’s the explanation I tend to believe; hubris with a lab coat.

            In any case, once the portal was opened, the floodgates turned loose and homicidal creatures of every sort came into our dimension by the thousands, then the millions. Some of them had wings and could fly; some of them had gills and could breathe underwater. Most of them had fangs and talons and venom. All of them had a penchant for killing anything that wasn’t a demon. We began calling them demons because they resembled the Hollywood version of demons in a physical sense but later on, because the more religious of what was left of humanity assigned a spiritual explanation to them. Whatever the case may be, I have yet to see an angel but I’ve seen plenty of demons.

            The war took its toll on humanity, a heavy one. In the space of three years our population decreased by 75%; three out of every four humans were killed in the space of three years, either directly at the hands of the demons or through disease and the starvation that followed the war. Still, the war went on for ten bloody years but we managed at last to prevail. We survive, although I wouldn’t call it thriving.

            Most of the great cities are deserted, empty husks that were once thriving and full of vitality. They stand quiet, sentinels in the night, lifeless monuments to a civilization that no longer exists. From time to time, my travels take me through one of them; as hardened as I am to the world around me, I find myself in tears sometimes as I think about what once was.

            The demons were contained and humans learned to protect themselves better. We designed weapons that were more effective against the demon horde than bullets, rockets and even nuclear devices. We designed warriors to wield them that were more murderous than any that had existed before.

            But what we didn’t count on was the adaptability of the demons. Some of them have been able to alter their own appearance by using the DNA of human prisoners to create doppelgangers, demons in human form. Those did tremendous damage in the second Demon War, but soon we figured out a way to sniff them out.

            Now humanity exists in small enclaves, fortress-like castle-cities that are almost feudal in nature. These enclaves are protected by the Hunters, those who patrol the land and destroy whatever demons we can find. I am one of these. I had a human name once but now I’m just called Sangre.

            The second Demon War ended when a Hunter by the name of Jeremiah found a way to permanently close the open portal. This heroic act cost Jeremiah his life and there is no human more revered than he, and for good reason. We have hope for the first time in decades that we may actually survive as a species. Once upon a time the Hunters had a very different role, protecting the human communities against demon assault. We were called Guardians back then – Jeremiah was actually a Guardian all his life, although we regard him as the first Hunter.

            Now we have left the fortresses and go out looking for demons to kill. Most demons are mindless, ravening animals but there are demons that have intelligence and self-awareness. There were once armies of this sort of demon – the doppelgangers were part of this demonic strain. Now, we aim to commit utter genocide against these bastards. It is the mission of the Hunters to eradicate their presence completely from our world and reclaim it not only for the humans, but for the plants and animals that existed before the demon incursion.

            We have managed to save many of the plant and animal species – some as embryos and seeds only. When the demons are gone, the wasteland will be reseeded and inhabitable once again. It has been 20 years since Jeremiah made his sacrifice and the end of the mission is in sight.

            In fact, some of the demon wastelands in various parts of the world have been rendered completely free of their presence and the reclamation of those areas have already begun. One of these, in what used to be called California, has been successful. These days we call it Eden.

            But there is still work to be done, and it is my calling to do it. My brothers Espada and Dolor lead Hunter teams into one of the largest remaining demon wastelands in North America, located in a part of the region that stretched out over New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado. They are attacking in an organized fashion, with dozens of men and women at their disposal.

            I prefer to work alone. Not quite alone; I have a dog, a Doberman mix who is my only companion. He doesn’t require a lot of attention which is why I don’t mind him, but he is also invaluable and sniffing out demons which is why I keep him. I used to just call him Dog, but my brother Dolor pointed out that all creatures need a name; it’s what separates us from the demons, so I named him Escatar, after my other brother who was killed by demons as a boy.

            The reason I like Escatar so much is because he doesn’t talk much. I’m really not one for conversation; most of my thinking is about demons, how to kill them and how to survive killing them. Like most Hunters, I’m not what you’d call a good looking man. I’m gaunt from years of foraging in the wasteland, with long stringy black hair and an unkempt beard that is beginning to turn grey. Half of my left ear is missing and there’s a long scar on that side of my face from when a Green Hornback made a snack of the lower part of my ear over in Mesquite territory.

            There are all sorts of smaller scars, scratches, dents and bruises from other battles. My nose has been broken so many times I’ve lost count; it’s left my nose looking more or less like a mashed potato on the center of my face. I broke my hip fighting a Ruiner in the ruins that used to be Phoenix and it never set right so I walk with a decided limp. My skin is like leather from living out in the sun. I don’t even notice sunburns anymore and I have all sorts of moles and cysts on my skin from exposure to the sun. Like I said, a real looker.

             While my brothers are marching through the wasteland from the East, I’m headed for the center of it. There are still lots of demons there, too many. Demons can reproduce, but not quickly except for the little Squidgens but they are more pests then demon. However, with the portal closed, the population of demons should be decreasing rapidly and everywhere else, they have. Only here there hasn’t been a decrease, there’s an increase. Nobody talks about it, nobody wants to admit it, but I will voice what nobody wants to say. There’s another portal, and it’s open. Here.

            So I go into Hell, into the center of the wasteland to find it. Me, my dog, my sword and my balls. That’s all I need. So I’m walking through the wasteland and it’s not like a walk through anywhere else you’ve ever been. Most of the plant and animal life that lived here before has withered or been killed. New species have established themselves here, most of them deadly in one way or another, like the Scorpion Ghost which is actually a plant. It’s tendrils hide beneath the surface and are alerted by the vibrations of footfalls, which cause the plant to suddenly erupt through the surface to wrap themselves around the foot of whatever it is that’s walking. Tiny little injectors pump venom into the body of the victim, rendering him paralyzed. The vines then drag the living carcass to the maw of the plant, where the victim is slowly digested for several days.

            Then there are the Leviathans, monsters that are ten stories tall and nearly a mile long, looking not unlike a horseshoe crab only with a slimy, rubbery skin that is covered with a toxin that attacks anything fleshy, dissolving it in a matter of minutes. It’s large and ungainly but it can be avoided and can be killed by pouring ordinary rock salt on it. The real danger is the carrion eater that follows behind it, the Yellowclaw. These are nightmarish crosses between spiders, crabs and crocodiles, with eight sets of claws and pincers, retracting eyestalks and a long, deadly tail with a club-like appendage that if it hits you can knock you woozy, at which point it attacks with a surprisingly fast ferocity, tearing you to pieces and eating your remains.

            There are Whistlers and Gigglers and Dirtclouds; Gatorbirds and Stretchers and Incubi. Chokers and Spearwings and Spiketails, Chargers and Wink Devils and Ironjaws. I’ve run into all of them and dozens more over the past few weeks, and killed every one of them. I haven’t seen any Dops or Deathknights so far, but I’ve seen Hellhounds and when you see one of them, the others can’t be far away.

            I’ve been living in the wasteland for almost fifteen years now, either here or in the northwest and I’ve seen acid storms and razorwind but never before have I had this gut feeling that something very, very bad was going on the way I do now and so I trudge forward, one foot in front of the other, killing anything that gets in my way.

            This morning, I was in the middle of dispatching a Bramble Lion, a large cat-like creature that instead of fur has spiky, sticky thistle-like growths that stick to your skin and are melted by body heat. Once the outer shell melts, a particularly virulent acid is released that acts a lot like napalm except it only burns flesh. I had just finished cutting off its head when I saw her, a beautiful woman with long, black hair and cobalt blue skin. A Deathknight, the most intelligent and cunning of the demons and the masterminds of the demon civilization, assuming they have one.

            With the Bramble Lion’s ichor dripping from my sword, I sauntered towards her. She regarded me with some amusement; clearly she had no fear of me, despite the fact my brotherhood had been dispatching her brethren with ruthless efficiency. She gave me an ironic bow and applauded. “Oh well done, Hunter, dispatching a Bramble Lion so bravely. You are indeed worthy of your calling. Tell me, which of the brothers do I have the pleasure of addressing? Dolor? Sangre? Espada? Escatar?”

            I straightened up and looked at her dead in the eyes, saying nothing. She was obviously trying to get a rise out of me by mentioning my dead brother. My brothers and I are certainly well-known among Deathknights. We have been responsible for sending a lot of them on to the next life after all. I wouldn’t speak directly, just staring at her patiently. I reached out my senses and after a moment ascertained that there were dozens of demons within striking distance. Next to me Escatar was growling.

            The Deathknight laughed. “Ah, you must be Sangre the Silent. I should have known from the scar on the side of your face, given you by a mere Green Hornback. That must have been embarrassing.” I grunted and begin to advance on her, warily, knowing that the attack from her attendants would be from the back, but I couldn’t allow the Deathknight to report my position back to her friends. If the demons knew I was this close to the center of the wasteland they might send a whole army after me, which might disrupt my plans a little bit.

            Suddenly behind the Deathknight stood a line of Kruegers, vaguely human-shaped demons with long sharp blades where their fingers should be. They also spit venom and are surprisingly fast and agile. I could take on one or two of them at once, but there had to be twenty of them there, far more than I could handle alone, or even with Escatar. Still, better to go down fighting if I must die. I raised my sword and prepared to do battle.

            The Deathknight laughed. “Stay your sword, Hunter, sheathe your weapon. I mean you no harm, at least not now. If I wanted you dead, I have many minions at my disposal; I could have had you killed while you were busy fighting the Bramble Lion. Even if you could kill all my Kruegers, I have a Master Maggot not a hundred feet away.” I felt the presence of the maggot, one of the largest and most feared demons there were; one Master Maggot could easily take on an army of Hunters without much trouble.

            At last I spoke to her. “What would you have of me?” I asked. The sound of my voice seemed to startle her, which brought me some satisfaction. “So it’s true, Sangre the Silent carries the Spectral Voice. How very interesting.”

            She was sitting in a chair that one of her minions had brought out. There was an empty chair beside her and she motioned at me to sit. I saw no other alternative but to oblige her, which I did. She smiled again. “I am Venema of the Legion, and I speak for my people. We wish to parlay with your kind.” I had been trained by the Elderhunters not to betray any emotions, but I very nearly did. Since they had arrived, we had always believed the Deathknights and those they command take no prisoners, show no mercy, never compromise. The only thing they wanted was to exterminate all existing life on our world so they could make it their own. They had very nearly succeeded. So now that they were on the verge of being wiped out themselves, they wanted to talk?

            “There is nothing to discuss,” I said. “You came to destroy us. Instead, it is you who will be destroyed. We have wiped out your kind all over the world, and here is where the last of you will die. What more is there to talk about?” For a moment, the mask of arrogance vanished and she frowned. She said “I admit, we did mean to annihilate your race, but we needed your world. Our own world was no longer able to support our numbers. When you opened the portal to your dimension, we discovered a means to our salvation. Your world is an ugly and inhospitable place, but it had potential. We came through the portal by the millions until the Unspeakable shut that door for eternity.” I assume by “the Unspeakable” she meant Jeremiah.

            “Now we are stuck here and cannot get back. Enough of us came through that those who remained in our dimension can survive, at least for several centuries but all the Deathknights are here, in this world. As you can see, we are intelligent and self-aware as you are; you mean to commit genocide against us, yet you accuse us of being monsters.”

            I looked at her, glowering. “I do not recall you being particularly concerned about the ramifications of wiping out the human race. We have a saying among my people; That which you do as you live, thus will you die. You have brought this end on yourselves. We had the right to defend ourselves and we won. Even if you kill me, inevitably you will all die. You cannot reproduce fast enough and we will kill every last one of you and restore this planet the way it was.”

            She smiled again and I got that peculiar feeling that something wasn’t right. “I cannot fault you for defending yourself, Hunter. It is part of the Ka of every living thing to desire its own survival. You merely follow your instinct that was bred within you. We have the same Ka; in this regard we are the same, loathe as I am to admit there is anything about us that is the same.” At last, something we both could agree on.

            “So what are we talking about, Deathknight? You wish me to go to my brothers and beg them to take their armies back home and let you survive long enough to build your numbers back up again so that you might swarm and finish the job your kind started? It is you or us; both cannot survive here. There is nothing more to say.”      

            I stood up to end the conversation but she grabbed my arm. “If I take you to the center of our land to our city and show you a reason to allow us to survive, what then?” I shook her arm off with a vigorous motion. The touch of her was strangely unsettling. “And what if I do not think your reason worthy? I will be as good as dead. Better to die here in that case.”

            She stood too and did something that amazed me. She unsheathed her own sword, knelt at my feet and offered it up to me. “I am told you know the nature of my kind better than any living Pinkbelly. Our sword is our soul; in it is our honor, our being, all that we are. I give you my sword for you to safeguard. If what I reveal to you in our city does not convince you, you will be escorted back here to this spot without harm and given three days where none will harm you. Leave my sword where it can be found and you will get another three days. That is my oath to you; on my sword I swear it.”

            She was right about me knowing the Deathknights. Deathknights whose swords were broken would take their own lives. If I felt threatened at any time, I could break her sword and she knew it. Deathknights were not fond of self-sacrifice; I didn’t think she would give her life away so freely when she could have taken mine without endangering her own. However, I needed a little more assurance.

            “Send away the maggot, and let me communicate with my brothers. Let no harm come to them as well while I am in your city and I will see what you have to show me.” She smiled and stood up. She bowed her head for a moment and then looked up. “I have sent away the maggot. Sense for yourself.” I reached out with my senses and felt the maggot’s presence moving off. I also noticed it was moving away from where my brothers were supposed to be. I nodded in satisfaction. “You may communicate with your brothers now.”

            I reached out with my mind. Part of the training of the Hunters involves our psi-senses, giving us the ability to speak over great distances with our minds. That bond is stronger within blood relatives. I often spoke to my brothers this way; we rarely meet in person because of our mission. I felt the familiar and reassuring presence of their minds in my own. “Brothers, I am in the presence of Venema, a Deathknight who wishes to show me a reason for us to spare their kind. I am going to their city to see this. I have been given assurances for safe conduct that I do not trust. Keep in contact with my mind; it will lead you to their city if I am betrayed and will at last give you the means of wiping them out for good.”

            As Hunters must be, they were unsentimental. I was saying goodbye to them; I did not expect to survive this journey, but the information I gathered might well be important and useful in our mission to exterminate the demons. I deemed it a sacrifice well worth making. I felt their acknowledgement but no regret. They knew what I did, and expected no less as I would with them. I looked up. “We go, then.” She smiled. “We go” was all she said.

            It was somewhat surreal. I had been living in this wasteland or others like it my entire adult life and every step of the journey was always filled with danger; a Hunter must be alert every second of every day or that Hunter would die, and nothing was of less use than a dead Hunter. However, I felt strangely calm. Venema steered us around every place dangerous to humans and often sent her minions out to clear the way of dangerous plants and animals in our path. I knew she wanted me in the city for a reason, so I would be safe enough until then.

            Escatar followed along, somewhat uncertainly. Occasionally he would let loose a whimper or a growl, and clearly he didn’t like having so many enemies so close at hand but he was a loyal and noble creature and stayed right by my side where he might defend me if the need arose. I had never been touched by any living thing before, but I was touched by his loyalty.

            It took us more than a week to arrive there, but we reached the demon city and I had to admit I was a bit surprised at its strange beauty. It was built of materials both familiar and strange to me and rose almost like a fairy tale in the wasteland. Elegant cone-like spires, tapered at the bottom, reached hundreds of meters into the sky. There was a gracefulness to the city I hadn’t expected; I didn’t expect there to be art or beauty among the demons. Venema seemed amused at my reaction. “You Pinkbellies believe the worst of us, do you not? We have no art, no culture, nothing of value, and nothing of beauty…and yet you see differently.”

            I looked at her coolly. “Is this what I was meant to see? That you have an aesthetic sense? Anthills have that as well, and I have no issues stepping on one.” She laughed, a strange sound indeed. “Sangre the Silent, I would have never thought you to be one to jest. No, there is much more for you to see before we come to what I came to show you.”

            As we walked through the city, I felt ill at ease. I was surrounded by the enemy and I could feel their stares. Some made no secret of their hatred and their desire to kill me, but everywhere we went Venema had an escort for us who made sure that no trouble would arise and none did.

            In many respects it was similar to a human city; there were clearly divides of class and status, with some living in what appeared to be poorer quarters, while others seemed to have more living space. There were sword makers and markets that sold what appeared to be food, although none looked edible to me. There were plants and animals that humans could consume, and Venema had provided them throughout our journey. We passed what appeared to be auditoriums of some kind; places where hundreds of Deathknights gathered. I asked Venema if these were places of worship and she looked at me strangely and thoughtfully then said that they were.

            I had been right about one thing; there were many, many more Deathknights than we thought there were. I sent that information to my brothers. They had literally thousands of Hunters between them, but they would need double what they had to take this city. Dolor assured me he was communicating that information to the Hunterelders who would send reinforcements.

            We came to a large building near the center of the city. While many of the buildings we had passed were adorned with symbols and decoration, this one was not. There was a sinister feel to it, like some great evil existed within it. We stopped at the doors to the building. The entire building was a very dark grey, nearly black. The double doors were tall, about twenty meters, and unadorned. Venema turned to me. “This is what I brought you to see.” For a moment, I almost felt sympathy for her. She had been pleasant company this past week, and had lived up to her word but I knew before I would die I would see her dead first.

            I looked at her and decided to go for broke. “Is this where the portal is that you have re-established to your world?” Her eyes widened and at first I thought I had the right of it, but then she smiled and there was wistfulness to her expression. “Would that it was, Hunter, would that it was.” She went to the door handles which were iron, then twisted them clockwise and pulled. Slowly, ponderously the door opened.

            It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness – I hadn’t been inside a building in years. Then I saw. It was not what I expected. I took several steps back, my mouth open in shock. I had been trained not to reveal what I felt, but all my training could not have prepared me for what I saw. I quickly established contact with my brothers. Espada, my elder brother, picked up on my emotions and asked me what was wrong. “Turn your men around Espada. You too, Dolor. Send the reinforcements back where they came. We have no need to come here. We have no need at all.”            I sensed their confusion. Dolor spoke. “What do you see, brother? Tell us.” I felt myself weeping. I could sense Venema’s presence next to me. “Now you understand,” she said and I nodded. Oh heaven above, at last I did.

            There were thousands of demons in the room of all shapes and sizes, plants, animals and Deathknights alike and every one of them was changing, becoming something different. Strangletrees were turning into Eucalyptus trees. Leaping mold was becoming lichen.

            Animals were no different. Chargers were turning into terriers, Hellhounds into stallions, and Deathknights…they were becoming humans. “Your world is changing us. We are adapting to it, unexpectedly so. In a generation we will have changed completely. Your world will be yours. It will be ours as it turns out…unless you wipe us out, but you would be killing your own kind.”

            She was right. There was no need to kill the demons; our own world was doing that for us, and in a gentle, natural way. All we had to do was let nature take its course and our world would heal itself and as long as we did no further harm, it would remain that way. The wonder of our planet, our home was there before my very eyes. I hadn’t realized just how wonderful it all was. The world inside this grey building was the world as it once was…and would be again. We had been given a second chance by the demons, although that was never their intention.

            Some time later, as I walked with Venema out towards where my brother Espada’s army was camped, I asked her what she thought of all this. She looked at me thoughtfully, and then said “Our world was dying, and we had done that to ourselves with overpopulation, pollution and neglect. The millions who came here gave our old world a chance to regenerate itself. I never imagined that once the portal closed we’d be able to survive here. Now, there’s hope for us, a second chance.”

            I nodded. “For us as well,” I said. We walked on in silence and I ruminated on the irony that mankind’s best hope had come when we exorcised our own inner demons, and the demons accessed their inner human. Hope is a strange creature, is it not?