March of The Dead (MotD)

Darkness.

All there was; was darkness.

Cold and indifferent.

Concealing both the horror and the beauty the Deep was capable of.

Caverns the size of cities bristling with life that only thrived in the dark. Creatures unknown to the sun. Plants that generated their own light. Monsters that hunted and hid in the shadows. Races that built their homes in the stone.

The Vampiric Houses called the Deep their home, and did not take kindly to invaders. But the Vampire Houses were far from the only sentient life that filled the numberless caverns.

Hidden and allowed to populate to incredible numbers, factions of Greenskins constantly fought amongst themselves and each other, numbering in the millions, they grew sophisticated enough to call themselves a civilization.

Orcs, Goblins, Gnolls, and Kobolds, living and working together, they conquered large swaths of the Deep. Now given a foe that was strong and seemingly numberless, the numerous factions threw aside their conflicts to join together against the Demons. They cared not for the politics or the logistics, they cared only for the joy they found in the fight.

Undead populated and inhabited the Deep throughout, like vermin, occasionally one would grow strong enough to become sentient. But when they numbered in the billions, the rarity still becomes numerous. These Undead, while individualistic, found it easy to submit to those stronger than themselves. And even the mindless obeyed.

While the Humans on Surface believed themselves to be fighting the entirety of the Demons, they kept not even a tenth of the Coalition force occupied. The Humans fought battles in the thousands and tens of thousands.

Battles in the Deep often numbered in the hundreds of thousands and millions.

Yet even against such large numbers on multiple different fronts, in the strange terrain of the subterranean, and in the narrow tunnels, the Demons pushed back.

At least, until recently.

Something had changed a nearly two years ago.

The Vampire Houses began to fight together, using their strengths to cover up each other's weaknesses, fighting as a cohesive force instead of a gathering of segregated individuals.

The logistics and strategies of the Greenskins evolved to ensure the soldiers were properly equipped and located where they needed to be.

And the Undead began to group together and train, becoming the most disciplined force in all the world despite their strong individuality and egos.

The Coalition still made ground, but they took much higher losses for it and struggled to hold it.

Alaster had sent three of his Twelve Death Lords to the Deep, each one hand selected for the Faction they were responsible for leading against the Demons.

John beat the leaders of the Greenskins into submission, convincing them that they would enjoy the fight more if they could fight better.

Catherine used her mastery of Necrotic Magic to attract and empower the Undead who swore themselves to her Master. Very few refused, and those that did were quickly eliminated if they stood in the way.

Samantha had been sent to the Vampiric Houses. Her goal was to get them to put aside their disputes and petty sabotage and get them to focus entirely on the Demonic Threat.

They had refused her and attempted to kill her. Left with no other option, she killed the assassins they had sent after her and returned to report her failure to her Master.

The punishment was severe.

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For the Houses.

Consumed by his grief, furious at the world, spiteful of life in its entirety, and ashamed by his own inability, Alaster marched into the city of one of the Eight Houses.

Without mercy or remorse; Without raising a finger, Alaster's tendrils of Necrotic Mana tore into the Vampiric Population and any Human Slave they sent against him.

He left the city devoid of any of its masters, devoid of any blood drinker, and devoid of any miscommunication.

The message rang out among the surviving Houses.

Kneel, or cease to be.

The surviving slaves of the eliminated Houses were integrated into the others, to power the military industry that began to boom. Not a single member or slave of the remaining seven Houses remained apart from the war. Each one participated by either fighting in it, or supplying those that did.

With the entirety of the Deep brought under Alaster's heel, he began his war.

And he did so by attacking the Forward Operating Cavern of the Demons.

A battle that had raged for nearly eight months. A battle that had been fought on the rolling hills of the dead, where countless drowned in the lakes and rivers of blood. A battle that had the full attention of the Coalition War Masters.

Alaster's intention.

Using the survivors as his own messengers, Alaster ensured his message would reach not just the War Masters, but the entire Coalition.

There would be no peace. There would be no mercy. The war would continue until the total annihilation of the other.

Knowing there remained spies hidden in the cavern, Alaster signed his message by releasing his Mana, filling the city sized cavern with Necrotic Gas.

Empowered by the Mana, the Dead rose to fight again, not bound to Alaster as a Minion, but standing as a Native Undead. Their natural resurrection forced by the abundance of the Necrotic.

Alaster sent his Minions amongst the Native Undead, enlisting them in his military while they were still confused. As his ranks grew ever more, he returned to the ancient Throne Room.

The first Throne Room.

Here, where Human History first began on this world, having long since been consumed by the earth, his Empire of Death had begun.

Here, where Humanity resurrected itself from near extinction, Alaster's own withered and rotted away.

Alaster sat upon the ancient throne, where not even time had robbed it of its majesty, and contemplated the war.

Hours turned days. Days into weeks.

In his lich form, where his emotions remained muted and distant, he had no need for food or slumber.

Until finally, his concentration was interrupted by the presence of the Divine.

Alaster opened his eyes, two small spheres of Mana.

Standing in the middle of the hall, unfazed by the two dozen Master Ranked Forgotten standing at attention around him, Ebris stood.

Alaster had not seen the God for many years, yet he seemed exhausted.

"Ironic, isn't it?" The God of the Death spoke tiredly with a hint of a smile.

Alaster did not respond.

"Here, where the first of Humanity's Gods ascended, where you decided to call your own. I remember that throne. The last time I saw it, our friend was seated in it, the only one that refused to ascend and leave behind the others. He limited himself, to the very peak of power that this world would tolerate in a Mortal, just so that he would be able to lead and protect Humanity."

Alaster did not move.

"Are you not going to speak?"

Cold dread dripped from each word, "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to check in with you."

"Check in?" Alaster rose from the throne, "The woman I loved died," Each word enunciated by a step down the stairs, "To a war you started. And its only now, two years later, only after I began to fight back, that you stand before me."

"People die in war. I am sorry that one of them was someone you cared for. But I was busy fighting. I couldn't just drop everything to come and offer condolences. They don't mean anything anyway."

Black shot out from Alaster, coating the hall, dripping from the ceiling like blood, "You don't care. Not about me. Not about Humanity. So stop pretending. You are only here for one reason, so spit it out before I rip it out." Alaster's voice growled, taking on an inhuman tone.

Ebris chuckled, "You might be the most powerful human mortal, but don't forget that you are still just that. Just mortal."

Alaster lashed out, grabbing the god's throat and yanking the deity to his knees, "A mortal who killed a Demigod while he was just an Expert. Speak, or begone."

Alaster pushed Ebris away and returned to the throne.

Ebris rubbed his sore throat in stunned silence.

His very Divine Aura should have been enough to protect him from any Mortal. It should have melted Alaster's hand the moment it touched him with any hostile intent. Yet it did not. Instead, Ebris felt as if Alaster could have crushed his throat had he wished.

How? Ebris was older than any other Human. He had been around since before Humanity fled their home world. He had witnessed every critical event of this world, and participated in most. He was not the strongest God, but he was the most careful. He had more defenses than he could remember, yet not one had prevented this arrogant mortal from grabbing him.

Ebris stood up, his hand still over his throat, "Things have changed. The Demons have come to us Gods seeking a truce. There is a third party, something too powerful for either of us our species to fight, and its coming."

"There will be no peace."

"This isn't a decision you get to have." Ebris snapped.

"And yet it is a decision I am making. I blame the Gods just as much as the Demons for her death. Once I exterminate the Demons, I will be coming for all of you."