Mistaken for a Returnee

Garr of the Shadowed Hounds pack was an old soul. But thanks to certain… benefits of his demonwolf heritage, he'd remained in his prime for the last seven centuries and, Devil willing, he'd have a few more millennia to go.

Garr was a ten-foot, seven-inch tall anthropomorphic wolf with pitch-black fur. His eyes were solid crimson, and despite lacking a pupil in either eye, he could see incredibly well in both complete darkness and daylight.

A veteran warrior, commander, and monster tamer: Garr adorned his body with armor and weaponry made from the flesh and bones of his greatest foes.

His cuirass, pauldrons, and hood were made from the bones and skin of a Villmolas Sandarin- A species of bear from the great forests of the planet Villmola, it was a creature that stood forty-feet tall at the shoulder and weighed over twenty-thousand pounds.

His pants were made from the sheared wool of the Ticoliat Mountain Ram- a fire breathing ram from the volcanic trenches of the planet Austorlias. The wool sheared from the beast could withstand temperatures of up to ten-thousand Kelvin.

His boots were stolen from the corpse of a Tagaren Caustic Monk- An odd race of orcs whose treacherous tongues were nearly as poisonous as their blood.

He'd sunk his teeth deep into the side of the monk's neck and ripped out her spine- a marvelously brutal kill, and one that'd earned him much fame and recognition amongst his fellow Demonwolves…

But in exchange, Garr was deathly ill for almost a year after the battle.

And last, but certainly not least. His most recent treasure: Gauntlets and a claymore forged from ore he'd pilfered from the tombs of the ancient mountain dwarves.

Most dwarves slowly lose their fleshy qualities after death, eventually turning to stone. But not Mountain Dwarves, oh no, they become something far more fabulous than that.

Their bodies turn into a different type of metals depending on how old they were when they died.

He wasn't certain of the specifics, but it was something like- under a hundred years gets you Iron, under three hundred got you silver, and if you manage to dig deep enough into their mountains, then you could find the real treasure.

Dwarves over five-hundred years old turned to solid gold when they died. But the dwarves hoarded these bodies like vicious dragons, never allowing the other races to know of their existence.

Yet he'd done it- Sure, it'd taken a bit of torture and some… Mild child murder to get this information. But once it was in his hands, he came to a magnificent realization; what was more ironic than killing someone with the reforged corpse of their ancestors?

Garr, fully armored and ready for another day, turned away from the floor to ceiling mirror and looked around the small room.

He hated this room; it was too small, too humid, too-too mundane for someone like him.

But where else was he supposed to stay in this backwater cesspool?

The room was forty-feet wide, sixty-feet long, and the vaulted ceilings meant Garr could walk around without wondering if he would smack his head into anything.

A pair of small, seventy-inch by seventy-inch mattresses lay in the center of the room. There used to be a heavy wooden frame supporting one of them, but he'd thrown out that trash on day one.

What kind of savage would use a wooden bed frame?

Garr had simple tastes, he thought. A Jade bed frame was what he preferred, but he could easily 'rough it' by sleeping on Silver or Gold.

Once, after losing a bet to another captain, he'd even spent a full year sleeping on a steel frame.

That was horrible enough… But wood? What was this, the stone ages? He'd rather sleep on the bare floor than use something so hideous.

Aside from the mattresses, the other furniture in the room was a semi-transparent armor stand he'd carved out of a block of white jade. A large platinum desk with a simple velvet covered chair that he'd paid extra to have fitted to his exact specifications. And the handful of slaveborn who kept his temporary home clean, prepared his meals, and warmed his mattress whenever he called for them.

All of which he'd brought from his home on Acheron; a large garden planet under the control of Irnal; Baron of the crimson fleet and Garr's current master.

The rest of the building wasn't worth mentioning to Garr.

Yes, it was a two-story building with multiple bathrooms - which none of them used. A full kitchen - which only the slaveborn used. And seventy other rooms Garr hadn't so much as looked into.

But why should he care about them?

The only rooms he needed was his bedroom, which doubled as his office. And the kennel in the building next door. Let the slaveborn use the other rooms to their dark heart's content.

Maybe that would keep them out of his way, and more importantly, out of his sight until he needed them.

As for the building itself, a large portion of the back half was missing; it'd presumably fell into the ocean when the island dropped from the sky and broke into the thirteen pieces Garr's forces now occupied.

The thought of that day irritated Garr just as much now as it did six years ago.

They'd spent weeks feigning a siege on the island while the succubi and incubi of the army worked day and night to corrupt the citizens. All they had to do was wait and the floating island would be theirs.

With an island under their control, they would finally hold the key to getting inside the other islands.

The former captain of the Shadowed Hounds knew this, and was originally on board with the plan… But the appearance of a small, but loud-mouthed hunter threw a mountain-sized wrench into the cogs of their plan.

The hunter knew just which buttons to press to infuriate the former captain until he'd become nothing more than a rabid wolf just waiting to be put down.

However, Garr believed he wouldn't take it too far, even in his angered state.

After all, though they looked like animals, they were a civilized species.

They were above such base instincts…

And then that absolute buffoon started to actually siege the damn island, breaking the ward stone in the process.

The only good thing to come out of it was Garr's subsequent promotion after the late captain was fired out of a cannon for his incompetence.

Garr left through a hole in the front of the building and headed towards the kennels next door.

He'd constructed the kennels inside the remains of an old stone temple. At one time, the temple was probably the tallest building on the island.

But now, all that remained was the Altar room; a two-hundred foot long, ninety-foot-wide room filled with statues of some faceless human, twenty benches placed in two lines of ten each, and the large, circular Altar at the far end of the room.

He pushed open the door to the Altar room and stepped inside.

The room was completely dark, save for the few candles burning on the Altar.

Garr hadn't put them there, and as far as he knew, they'd never stopped burning in the six years they'd occupied the island.

He'd once ordered a slaveborn to extinguish the candles and dispose of them- just to see what would happen-

The slaveborn was immolated on the spot.

He decided to leave the burnt remains as a warning to the others: touch the Altar and die.

Since nothing seemed to happen as long as they didn't touch the Altar, Garr had decided to use the building as a kennel for his pet beasts. He'd lost a couple of them over the years, but the smart ones remained.

"Come." He said in a calm, but domineering voice.

At the sound of his call, nine large dogs and twenty-four puppies emerged from the shadows of the room.

The dogs were all remarkably similar in appearance, with only minor differences in fur color and coat pattern.

The adults were all extremely tall, standing around five-feet at the shoulder and over nine-feet long if measured from the tip of their nose to the base of their tail.

They all had some variant of gray fur, and shaggy coats meant to protect them from cold temperatures prevalent almost year-round on the island.

Garr discovered the first generation on the island after the Shadow Hounds moved in, and he'd been selectively breeding and training them ever since.

His ultimate goal was to create a new species of demon: one that wasn't bound by the 'dungeon break' law that kept them all prisoner.

The dogs were the first step towards achieving that dream.

Right now, they were trained to protect the dungeon without rest. But soon, they would be able to enter and leave the dungeons at will, protecting the portals from either side as needed.

Garr observed the dogs for a few seconds. "...Are you ignoring me again?" He asked the dogs, his voice accompanied by the undertone of a growl.

One of the adults looked around, then disappeared into the shadows- there was a low snarl followed by the sound of a high-pitched Yelp!

A few seconds later, the adult returned with a small puppy dangling from his mouth.

"You again." He grumbled and took the puppy from its father's mouth.

He lifted it by the scruff of its neck and observed it for a reaction.

The puppy was skinny, too skinny, and its coarse gray fur did nothing to conceal its ribs from view. Being the runt of the litter meant it wasn't getting enough to eat, and soon… Soon its siblings would devour it in their own search for food.

Despite its obvious weakness, the puppy watched Garr with an unwavering gaze. There was an intelligence to its eyes that made Garr almost regretful of what was to come.

Garr released the puppy, causing it to drop like a stone to the ungiving floor below- the puppy cried out in pain, then continued to whimper as Garr left them to their fate. It wouldn't take much longer for the puppies to get hungry enough to turn on each other.

Once they did, he would come in to collect the survivors and repeat the trial with the next generation, as he'd done so many times before.

Almost as soon as Garr left the kennel, he was approached by a young imp.

Imps were a race of 'hybrid' demons that stood no taller than three feet. They had red, blue, or green skin that was covered in small scales that doubled as a source of protection.

All imps had blue eyes with reptilian pupils, no body hair to speak of, and bat-like wings protruding from their back.

Though smarter than Ogres, which wasn't saying much, Imps were a far cry from their former selves, losing most of their intelligence in the first couple of years.

Now, they were only good at following simple commands, which was why they were mostly used as spies- or like this Imp, messengers.

"Master Garr. The captainses requests your presences." The imp said, looking up at Garr with its big, hideous eyes.

"Of course, they do." He sighed and started walking without another word to the imp.

His longer stride forced the much smaller demon to fly just to keep up.

Garr observed the many different demons and buildings he passed on his way to the location he knew the other captains would be waiting.

There was a building directly in the center of the city, approximately four miles north of where he currently stood; the locals had once called it the Hunters Guild, though that name lost its meaning a few months after they arrived.

As he walked, Garr also observed the various Demonwolves he passed for any sign they'd attack him- something he had to do every time he ventured beyond the safety of his home.

He was only captain of the Shadowed Hounds because he was stronger than the last idiot who tried to attack him.

The same was true for the captains of the other races. They never knew when someone else would come along and attempt to relieve them of both their title, and their life.

It was only thanks to Irnal's law, which stated that Demons could only fight amongst others of their own race, that the weaker demons weren't all killed off by the much larger, much stronger demons like the Ogres, Trolls, and Demonwolves.

This was done to prevent the balance of power from shifting away from those with strong minds, and frail bodies. Instead of favoring only those with strong bodies but had the mental capacity of a rotten toadstool.

A balance was needed to maintain a strong army, and Garr believed Irnal had achieved that balance.

He broke into a light jog after a minute of walking, crossing the city at speeds that made him appear as a black blur to everyone he passed.

After a scant three-minutes of running, he arrived at what used to be the hunters guild and headed inside.

Stepping into what was once a decently decorated lobby, Garr spotted a small army of demons loitering in the center of the room.

The fifty-two captains of the various races turned their eyes to him the moment the door shut behind him.

"Hello doggy." Someone said with a voice that was deep, but also childlike in its innocence. Garr glanced over and saw Zyzzen; captain of the Ogres, sitting on the floor a few feet away.

Zyzzen was perhaps the largest Ogre Garr had ever seen. Even sitting down, Zyzzen was eye level with Garr. Unlike most Ogres who had a thick layer of fat over their muscular bodies, Zyzzen was lean; meant for speed and explosive force, rather than overwhelming strength.

He was an Ogre whose body had been built from the ground up for combat.

But his size wasn't the only thing to differentiate him from the other Ogres. Zyzzen was smart- Well, smart for an Ogre. He had the intelligence and curiosity of a human child… Garr glanced down at the imp corpse Zyzzen clutched in his right hand.

He was treating it like a doll and moving its limbs in a pattern that made the corpse look like it was dancing.

"Zyzzen." Garr muttered in acknowledgement- He winced as Zyzzen smiled at him; the Ogre's rotten, crooked teeth stained red from the blood of the last creature he'd eaten. "What'd I tell you about brushing your teeth after a meal, huh?" Garr asked, annoyed by the sight.

"Did not have time!" Zyzzen whined. The Ogre slammed his fist into the ground in a show of petulant rage. "Zyzzen just finished eating when told to come here. Not my fault."

Garr sighed. "Just… Brush your teeth when you leave, alright?"

"Alright." Zyzzen muttered, he went back to playing with his corpse- But as if he couldn't suppress the rage about being told what to do, Zyzzen slammed the imp into the floor with enough force to reduce the corpse to a meaty pulp

"Aww, it broked.".

Garr shook his head at the sight and moved to join the other captains. forty-five of the fifty-two gathered demons greeted him by name, while the remaining seven just stared in confused silence.

Garr realized then that the seven were all newcomers to the group, having killed the previous captains sometime since the last time they'd held one of these meetings.

"Hello everyone." Garr replied to their greetings with a professional smile on his lupine face. "Hey, how'd Zyzzar get the imp? Did he finally snap and kill somebody?"

"That was my fault." A quiet, but obviously feminine voice said from a few feet to Garr's right.

Looking over- and down, waay down, he saw a green skinned imp standing with its arms folded across its chest. "I didn't realize he was on the way to a meeting." It explained.

The realization hit Garr like a slap across the face. He glanced back at the imp Zyzzar was playing with; Blue skin, missing its left wing, and… Yep, only one eye. That proved it, the plaything was the previous imp captain: Dytar.

"Damn. He owed me ten Stregos." Garr muttered to himself, disappointed he would never see that money again.

"Now that we're all here, mind if we get a move on? We're kind of in a rush." Zarinvia; The Succubus captain, and former human, said impatiently.

She was a tall blonde woman with baby blue eyes, fair skin, an impossibly narrow waist, and her bust and butt were proportionally perfect. Were it not for the large bat-like wings, obsidian tipped claws on her hands and feet, and the small white horns protruding from her forehead. Garr doubted anyone would ever guess she wasn't still a human.

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She, like all succubi and incubi, were literally designed by their Devil masters to drive both men and women wild with lust. And also like all succubi and Incubi, she wore almost no clothing. just a simple leather strap beneath her heavy breasts to keep them from bouncing with every movement- which Garr imagined would make it slightly more difficult to defend herself when she was inevitably attacked.

Once all eyes were on her, she glanced towards her incubus partner with a look that was two parts pleading and one part 'I'll cut your balls off if you don't help me.'

Jarer; Incubus captain, and also a former human, sighed at the look and nodded.

Jarer was tall, for a human, and was prettier than most women Garr had seen throughout his long years.

His snow-like skin and waist-length silver hair shined with a healthy glow that was almost unheard of among demons. And while his body was lean, he possessed enough muscle to snap a normal human in half.

Unlike his Succubus counterpart, Jarer's horns weren't small things that barely protruded through the skin; instead, they were long enough to curl back over his head and were darker than Acheron's nights. His wings were also different and looked more like the wings of a large owl, rather than a bat.

"Yes, we're under a serious time crunch and we need to come to a decision quickly." Jarer said, his voice was slightly hoarse and deeper than his frame would suggest was possible.

"About?" Garr asked, tilting his head to one side. There was a chorus of questions from the gathered demons, all echoing Garr's words.

"There's an island coming." An odd, raspy voice spoke up.

Looking over, Garr saw Tetch; a Lich, and captain of the undead horde that made up about sixty percent of Irnal's forces on Iolara.

"An Island?" Someone asked, and excitement began building in the room.

Even Garr was grinning hungrily at the thought of an Island coming.

So far, they'd only seen three islands pass by their location in the six years they'd been stationed on Iolara. One was the island they were standing on; one barely came within eyeshot before scurrying off to places unknown, and this makes three.

"Is it coming close enough for us to do anything?" Someone asked.

"If it maintains its current course and speed, then it should fly right over us by this time tomorrow." Tetch replied. Garr wasn't sure why, but he could almost swear he could see a smile on the skeleton's face.

Tetch's glowing blue eyes- if balls of blue fire could actually be called eyes- were shining in anticipation for what was to come.

Yes, they would finally have a chance to succeed where they failed once before. And this time… Nothing would stand in their way-

Crash!

The roof suddenly collapsed, causing debris and years of dust to rain from the ceiling.

A massive ball of golden light slammed into the floor just twenty feet from where the group was standing.

One of the demons cast a minor wind spell to clear the dust.

With their vision cleared, the demons collectively stared at the massive hole in the ceiling, then shifted their attention to the pit in the floor.

Pitch-black smoke rose from the pit: whatever crashed into the building was hot enough to melt the stone floor around the crash site, causing it to glow with a faint red light.

The shimmering effect the moonlight had on the dust particles falling from the ceiling and the embers rising from the floor was strangely beautiful to their eyes.

"Fifty-two Druu'rothi have been located." An oddly familiar voice filled Garr's ears, sent chills down his spine, and caused his heart rate to skyrocket.

But he didn't yet understand why.

What was this sense of dread he was feeling?

When was the last time he'd even felt fear?

He couldn't remember- No, wait, he did remember.

It was during his service to his previous master: before he'd joined Irnal's army, Garr was but a humble slaveborn dreg in the Devil Mennidoth's legion.

Mennidoth… Now that was a Devil he hadn't thought about in centuries. Once known as the Logistical King, Mennidoth was supposed to be a prodigy.

He'd climbed the ranks of Devil nobility faster than a Troll could regenerate an eye and became an Arch-Devil at the young age of 994.

He attributed his many successes to the way he governed the worlds under his command.

Mennidoth was somewhat unique among Arch-Devils.

A top-tier warrior in his own right, but his true strength came from his logistical genius.

He knew the easiest way to conquer a planet was to hinder their ability to sustain themselves. So, while most Devils simply destroyed a planet once they were no longer of use, Mennidoth preferred to keep them around and just add them to his army, in exchange for constant shipments of food, warriors, breeders, and technology.

It was a widely known fact that Mennidoth would prefer to enslave a population, then leave them mostly alone while he went on to conquer another world.

Which was how the relatively young Mennidoth had risen to the rank of Arch-Devil after only a few hundred years, and how a young Garr found himself in the service of such a Devil.

Being the child of a demon captain and a slave would've afforded him no opportunities in anyone else's army, but Mennidoth was different. And the day he died… The day he died, was the first time the demons realized a Devil could die.

A pair of golden eyes appeared from the center of the smoke.

As soon as a demon made eye contact with those strange golden eyes, the demon would freeze in place like a frightened rabbit.

And then the eyes landed on Garr.

His body froze on instinct, leaving only his muscular legs quivering. He bit down on his tongue to steady his nerves… and when that didn't help, he dug his nails deep into his right thigh- making sure to avoid hitting anything that would hinder his ability to run.

Yes, he would run- and he would run faster than he ever had in his life, for he recognized those eyes.

They'd haunted his dreams for centuries after he'd escaped with the survivors of Mennidoth's army.

Always there, lurking in the shadows of his vision, waiting to claim his life- just as they had his Master's.

The golden eyes slowly moved down Garr's body before landing on the gauntlets covering his fists, and the sword at his hip- A wave of bloodlust washed over the demons, bringing them all to their knees.

But Garr was hit especially hard: his vision shifted hues, turning everything to some shade of red, while darkness grabbed the corners of his eyes, devouring his sight until the only thing he could see was those golden eyes.

"A survivor?"

Garr's eyes widened. A part of him wished he was wrong. He'd wanted to believe it couldn't be true, that there was no way it had found him… But that reaction, the realization in those golden eyes proved it.

Vakrahn-Morgath (God's Monster) had found its way to Iolara.

Golden eyes closed for a moment, and there was movement inside the smoke- "O' mighty Oakairo; my king and guiding light, let my words reach you on dragon's wings. With my body as the vessel, bring your wrath down upon mine enemies: Aspect of the Dragon - Breath."

The smoke cleared in an instant, revealing Aldritch's towering form to the surrounding demons- a seemingly normal barrel at his side.

His head was down, while he finished his prayer to Oakairo- Then his eyes opened, causing golden light to spill through the fallen strands of hair covering his face.

He slammed his shield into the ground in front of the barrel, easily penetrating the shattered and boiling stone floor, then removed his hand from it entirely and took a short step forward.

Aldritch pulled back his head and looked towards the sky as something rapidly materialized in the air behind him.

"Stop him!" Garr screamed. His voice was the driving incident the demons needed to shake off their fear and react to the obvious threat standing in front of them.

"Varzhan Vornak-Vak, Korthaz Irnal; Baran Vorzhok-Khazran. Thrazhen shurak zhan, O Zharok-Vak: (Through the oath of blood, I call upon the power of Irnal; Baron of the Crimson Fleet. Your servant requires aid O dark one:)" Thirty-two demons intoned simultaneously.

Sixteen fireballs, eleven bolts of lighting, four streams of acid, and a beam of super condensed necrotic energy launched at Aldritch…

But they'd arrive too late- the thing finished materializing before they could complete their spells.

In the air behind Aldritch was the head and neck of a colossal dragon: each scale was thicker than platemail and sparkled like polished diamonds in the bright moonlight.

The muzzle was long, slender, and possessed multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth, while a dozen long, silver horns made a halo... or perhaps it was a crown atop its head?

The dragon's head came forward and opened its terrible mouth- Golden flames spewed from its open maw, swallowing the thirty-two demons' spells in an instant and bathing half the room in a vengeful golden light.

The heat that flooded the room was inconceivable to the demons, never had they experienced the might of a true dragon's flame.

Garr was blown backwards in the blast, launching his body away from the epicenter and out the door, slamming into the asphalt road in front of the building.

He slid across rough gravel and limestone for twenty feet, leaving a trail of blood, dust, and fur in his wake...

Ears ringing, head pounding, chest almost too tight to breath, it took every ounce of strength in Garr's body to force himself into a seated position and look inside the building.

Aldritch carried his shield loosely in his left hand as he approached the sixteen demons who survived his first spell, seventeen if you counted the Demonwolf he'd launched outside.

Granted, they'd survived only because Aldritch hadn't been aiming directly at them, but even so, Aldritch was a bit pleased they hadn't broken so quickly.

He'd recognized the gauntlets on Garr's hands, and guessed the sword was made of the same material.

They were remnants of his people, and he had little desire to see them incinerated… Plus, Oakairo detected many demons on this island, as well as a dungeon. It would be highly inconvenient if he had to hunt them all down himself.

"Leave the gauntlets and sword behind, little wolf. If you do, I'll let you go get the rest of your army." Aldritch muttered, his voice reverberating inside Garr's skull.

Garr looked down at the gauntlets that covered his shaking hands- he swiped them away from his body so quickly you'd think they were on fire. Both gauntlets landed just a second before the sword clattered to the ground beside them.

Aldritch stared at the wolf for a moment before nodding and waving him away.

He took a slow breath and turned his head to regard the other captains, making careful note of the ones who'd survived his first attack: Two trolls, an Ogre who was sitting by itself, five Demonwolves, four Imps, two succubi, an incubus, and a lich-

The moment Aldritch took his eyes off Garr, the Demonwolf scrambled to his feet and sprinted as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

"Got him?" Aldritch asked Oakairo.

"I've got his scent. If he does enter the dungeon, I'll find him again. He won't escape."

Aldritch smiled as he watched the demons getting ready to attack him. "Perfect." Aldritch raised his left arm and leveled the spike of the shield at the chest of a charging troll.

Trolls were huge creatures, with most being even larger than Ogres. But whereas Ogres were normally overweight berserkers, Trolls were cunning spell casters who just happened to be massive bruisers too.

The Troll bearing down on him was fourteen feet tall, with ash-gray skin, long black hair that hung to its shoulders, crimson eyes, and two long tusks jutting from his bottom lip. He wore an outfit consisting of simple furs, and leather straps. While his weapon of choice was a large chunk of stone, he'd no doubt ripped straight out of the floor.

The troll leapt the last ten feet, crossing the distance in the blink of an eye- its makeshift weapon raised high above its head and brought down at the last possible second…

Aldritch shifted his grip on the shield, causing it to lay over his arm like a piece of armor.

He pulled his left arm back into a punching position and twisted his hips-

Crash!

His arm launched forward, bringing the full weight and might of the shield with it.

The spike on the bottom of his shield punched through the troll's weapon without resistance, pulverizing the stone and sending the spike barreling into the troll's face.

"One."

The troll's head burst as it collided with the base of the shield, throwing blood, bone, and brain matter into the faces of the demons following in its wake. Its bulky upper body fractured beneath the mass of the shield, ripping free of its feet and flying a dozen feet back the way it came- while its feet continued running for a few seconds before the energy moving through its nerve endings died out, finally allowing them to fall over.

The five Demonwolves were hiding in the shadow of the Troll and leapt at Aldritch as soon as their meat shield was brought down.

Their teeth and claws were primed and ready to do some damage to the slowly moving giant with the unwieldy shield- But the bloodthirsty smile on his face caused them to hesitate.

In that second of hesitation, he pulled the shield back and shifted his grip again.

He lowered his head and bent his knees until he was fully behind the shield- then thrust the solid plate at the center of the shield, into the face of the fastest Demonwolf- smashing its skull deep into its chest cavity.

He pivoted his body and deflected the claws of the second wolf with the top of the shield, before getting the shield underneath the Demonwolf and shoving upwards- the wolf was launched over his head and crashed onto its back some ten feet away.

He noticed one wolf sprinting towards him from the same direction, having broken off from the group after the death of the first wolf and was attempting to flank him.

He looked back at the wolves coming after him from the front and kept moving as he instantly changed directions and brought the shield crashing down.

Aldritch smashed the spike into the back of another Demonwolf, driving the creature into the floor. The wolf's body spasmed for a moment, but he ignored it and kept turning, ignoring the fact that he was tearing through solid stone to do so.

Once he'd moved far enough, he launched the third wolf into the chest of the fourth wolf, who'd just leapt towards his back- Bang! The impact killed the third wolf and launched them both more than a dozen feet away.

Aldritch saw movement out of the corner of his eye, pulled his leg back and dropped to a knee, he immediately followed that move by bringing his mighty fist down on the back of the fifth wolf, who'd attempted to slide across the floor to attack his legs.

The wolf's spine turned to dust beneath Aldritch's fist, killing it instantly.

"That's five- Oh, troll casting fireball to the northwest." Oakairo muttered,

"Which way is northwest? It's a bit difficult to tell which direction is which here."

"It's that direction." Oakairo replied, directing his attention to the correct side.

"Understood. Eliminating that direction." Aldritch lifted the limp corpse by the fur of its neck, spun his body, and launched the Demonwolf like a cannonball.

The wolf corpse flew almost twenty feet before smacking into the bodies of two of the four imps, who were adding their magic to a troll's spell.

The impact sent all three bodies into the leg of the second troll.

The troll's knee snapped backwards, breaking the bone and causing the spell it'd been preparing to misfire- the fireball exploded in its face, melting its eyeballs and making it fall onto its back in surprise- crushing the other two imps in the process.

Aldritch moved towards the downed troll. He walked past the fourth wolf, who was trapped beneath the body of the third.

It was trying to escape, but apparently one of its arms was either broken or dislocated in the landing and it couldn't get enough leverage to free itself… The wolf looked up in time to see the bottom of Aldritch's boot rushing towards its face.

"That's… nine? Yeah, nine down. Hey, lightning bolts coming from that direction." Oakairo said, pulling Aldritch's attention to his left.

After finishing off the trapped wolf, Aldritch raised his shield and felt a slight prickling sensation through his fingers as lightning scattered across his shield.

"Divine Fireball." Aldritch muttered, opening the palm of his right hand towards the two succubi and the incubi who were already charging another lightning spell.

He felt his mana rush into his hand a second before a white ball of flame appeared- the ball launched towards them faster than they could blink. But just before it hit the succubus standing in the middle of the triangle, it exploded.

The three demons were instantly covered in a white fire that seared their flesh and boiled their bones.

For good measure, Aldritch lobbed a second Sacred Fireball towards them- the resulting explosion silencing them for good.

Just before Aldritch arrived at the troll's side, he glanced around for the Ogre.

He hadn't seen the ugly beast yet, what was it doing?

"That's twelve."

The troll, whose knee was nearly fully healed, thrust out an arm and grabbed the top of Aldritch's shield and attempted to arrest it from him- to its surprise, Aldritch didn't resist.

He let the shield go and watched as it fell to the ground, completely ignoring the presence of the troll's body.

The troll cried out, panic and fear wracked its mind as the shield flattened its right shoulder and part of its chest.

It shoved against the shield with its left arm, desperate to get it off so its body could heal; its muscles bulged and burned as it pushed against the shield… but it was to no avail.

The shield didn't so much as shake.

"Wolf incoming. That way."

Aldritch reacted instantly; he moved his head out of the path of the wolf's claws, then twisted and caught the demon by its throat with his left hand.

He lifted it off the ground despite it being a few feet taller than he was-

Crunch

The wolf's body went limp as its spine broke apart like undercooked pasta.

"Thirteen. Why'd you let go of your shield?" Oakairo asked.

"Watch." Aldritch replied and tossed the final wolf's corpse aside.

Something slammed into Aldritch's side with the force of an angry giant. The ogre captain had finally shaken off its fear and confusion, and gone on the attack…

But despite using every muscle in its massive body to hit the red-haired giant, Aldritch hadn't moved. In fact, it was the ogre who was suddenly feeling pain; Its shoulder had shattered on impact.

"Ah, bait."

Aldritch grunted and grabbed the Ogre by the back of its neck with his right hand. The ogre fought against the hold, wrapping its arms around Aldritch's waist in a bid to hold on.

Yet it proved outmatched.

Through sheer strength, Aldritch pulled the demon away from him and held him aloft with a single arm.

Not willing to accept defeat yet, the ogre swung a meaty fist at Aldritch's face- it hit with enough force to bend steel, and break concrete… But it was the bones in the ogre's hand that paid the price.

Aldritch glanced down at the troll. It was still trying to fight against the sheer weight of the shield and had only survived this long because its regenerative abilities were keeping it alive- "Lightning bolt incoming."

Aldritch moved the Ogre into the path of the spell and used its muscular body to intercept. It wailed in equal parts confusion and pain- until Aldritch drew back his left fist and released the ogre with his right.

His fist silenced its cries as it made contact with its face- and removed its entire skull from its shoulders.

The head flew like a cannonball into the chest of the lich- who couldn't withstand the impact and exploded into a shower of dust and bone particles.

"Fifteen."

Aldritch picked up his shield, much to the relief of the troll- However, that relief instantly changed to fear as Aldritch positioned the spike above its head.

Slam!

The shield ripped through its throat, decapitating it and ending the life of the last captain in the building.

He breathed a sigh of relief before pulling the shield free from the Troll's body- It came loose with a wet squelch and Aldritch stepped away from the corpse.

A trail of black liquid fell from his blood-soaked shield, leaving a path of dark droplets from the freshly decapitated troll to the barrel of chocolate milk.

"Still got his scent?" He asked, moving to reclaim the barrel.

He first inspected it for damage, and, finding none, he pulled out the cork and took a deep pull from the chocolate milk inside- His eyes widened in surprise, almost causing him to spit out his drink… Almost.

The milk inside was practically boiling but hadn't lost its rich taste due to the preserving enchantments carved onto the barrel. So, rather than ruining his new favorite beverage, the heated floor had instead introduced him to something else.

The wonders of Hot Chocolate.

"He hasn't entered the portal yet."

"Good." He sighed and replaced the cork before heading for the door.

However, he was brought to a standstill just outside of the door as he laid eyes upon a horde of demons rushing towards the building. They approached from all corners of the island- hundreds, possibly thousands of demons were coming for the one who dared to covet what they'd rightfully stolen.

Aldritch carried the barrel over to a piece of flat ground and placed it upright, before sitting the wolf's gauntlets and sword atop the barrel.

"Sanctuary." His mana twisted inside his body before exploding outwards to form a dense, protective shell in a thirty-foot radius around his body.

Any demon foolish enough to step inside his Sanctuary would feel the full might of his divine magic fall upon them. So, no, walking through it wasn't the answer. They'd need to kill him before they could lay a finger on his treasure…

Aldritch smiled and spread his arms wide as he stepped beyond the Sanctuary, welcoming the demons to attack him.

The roar of a thousand demons was akin to a war-flavored symphony.

He could almost hear it: the drums, the wind instruments, and the grand violin leading them all- this was what he'd wanted.

This was what his blood had been waiting for!

"Demons! Hear me!" Aldritch said, his voice amplified hundreds of times over by the divine magic coursing through his body.

"Today, you have the misfortune of facing Aldritch of clan Blackshield. Like the Mountains from which I hail; I will never falter, never fail. Here and now, I issue this challenge to you all!... Prove me wrong." Aldritch grinned widely, his eyes radiating madness and a lust that no mere tryst could fulfill.

"What was that about you not being able to tell if I was being flirtatious or carnivorous?" Oakairo asked, laughing; his own voice could not hide his anticipation any more than Aldritch could.

Aldritch only smiled as the first wave of demons came within a hundred feet of him.

The demons breached the fifty-foot line and Aldritch threw back his head. "O' mighty Oakairo; my king and guiding light, let my words reach you on dragon's wings. With my body as the vessel, bring your wrath down upon mine enemies: Aspect of the Dragon - Breath." Oakairo's head rapidly materialized behind Aldritch and opened his mouth.

"Permission Granted: My breath is yours." The sound of myriad birds ripped through the area as Oakairo's magic built inside his mouth- And the demon horde was reminded why they once feared the sun…