Headed by a Snake



Tycondrius' plans did not progress as well as he'd hoped.

Of course, they didn't.

Why would they? 

⟬ 38 bells, 44 minutes, 17 seconds remaining... ⟭ 

Tycon had put in a great deal of effort over the last few bells. 

He scribed a Spell Formation to cool the inside of his command tent. 

He recruited a Clock Devil.

He made lunch for himself, Pale, and the Officers. 

...He even took a short nap. 

But even after all that... he didn't have near enough hellborne recruits to give him the confidence to siege an established pocket dimension. 

"Franz," Tycon said, "how many do we have, currently fighting for Infernus Invictus?"

The ICE DEVIL rubbed his claws together, chittering nervously, "I... I don't know the exact number, my liege. Around... 3000? At least?"

"I'd very much like a more accurate count," Tycon groaned. 

He shot a glare at Franz, the ICE DEVIL. 

Franz, the ICE DEVIL, who came to the PLANE OF FIRE, asking for work. 

That Franz! 

"I... I can go check, if I must, Liege," Franz the iCe dEviL said with a deep, servile bow. 

Franz... who was in a Command Tent...

--located on the pLaNe of FiRe.

"I'd imagine it would take longer than several minutes," Tycon growled. "Can you do so without literally melting to death?"

"N-no, my liege. I don't believe I can."

"And I, the same," Tycon sighed wistfully... "Franz. Mix me another glass of sugar tea. And I want it as cold as my previous lover's heart."

"Of course, Sir," the (ugh) Ice Devil said as he quickly made his way to the opposite side of the tent, to the full liquor bar. 

"Hey, Boss!" said a Lust Demon as she entered the tent unannounced. "Got reports from the front."

Tycon rolled his eyes, "You're breaking protocol... on purpose, I'd imagine."

"Damn straight, I am.."

...Tycon groaned in disgust-- yet another instance of breaking his bearing. 

In the Plane of Fire, he acted as a Hellborne Noble... and every issue he had to deal with reminded him why the title was something most preferred to avoid. 

"I have no time to punish you," he waved. 

"You have to punish men," the scantily clad whelpling insisted with shining eyes, "It's the LAW!"

Bah. Demons only cared about the law when they had something to gain. 

"You may self-flagellate after you report-- and NOT before."

"Awww, yisss," the Lust Demon grinned, "you really know how to get me turned--"

"Kneel," Tycon commanded.

The Lust Demon knelt immediately, wagging her thin tail as if she were a dog. 

"RE-port," Tycon waved. 

Hm... 

The left flank had incurred heavy losses. 

The Blood Demons led an unsolicited charge against a pride of 30+ Flame Lions. It might have worked if they had the support of their ranged line... which they would have had if they hadn't broken formation. 

Also, the Lust Demon also spent an inordinate amount of time describing Blood Demon genitalia. 

...Anyroad-- 

Tycon gave his orders: the left flank was to fortify the center, assuming a diamond formation around the rifle squads. 

The Flame Lions would break their teeth if they were to mire themselves in the heavy melee at his army's center. 

Tycon then dismissed the Lust Demon.

However, he had to forcibly eject her from the tent because she was *committed* to having him observe her self-flagellation. 

...

⟬ 38 bells, 13 minutes, 39 seconds remaining... ⟭ 

The next visitor was a gentleman with the attire of a military Officer. 

"(Demon Lord, I must have words with-- by the Prophet, why is it so COLD in here?!)"

Tall. Red skin. Beard and mustache trimmed imperiously precise. 

Expression as if you'd asked him to grant you a wish, but had inadvertently rubbed him the wrong way, prior. 

The man was an Efreet-- and likely royalty, as Efreet leadership tended to be. 

Tycon waved lazily as he rendered a monotone spiel:

"Good afternoon. My rank is not Lord, it is 'Prince'. My name is irrelevant. I will render basic respect if you do the same. And to answer your question..."

He pointed to Franz. 

The Efreet gasped, "(Is that... an ICE DEVIL?)" 

"Franz," Tycon called lazily, "Does your bloodline happen to be: Ice Devil?"

"...Yes, gentle Sirs," Franz bowed. "That... is correct."

Tycon asked the Efreet if he had come for trade or... something else. 

He wanted to say 'or to seek a swift and merciless death,' but that would be rude. 

After a short conversation, Tycon determined that particular Efreet had not come for trade. 

An accident occurred involving a sword, Tycon's sword-hand, and the rude fellow's neck. 

The other Efreeti *had* come for trade (and gambling, drink, and delicacies; all funded by the magnanimous East Charm Trading Company.) They chose not to be offended.

Tycon wondered whether it was out of wisdom or hedonism-- not that it mattered. 

One Efreet was even related to the recently deceased. However, the tragic, accidental murder placed them one step closer to succession. 

Tycon and the other denizens of the climate-controlled tent mourned the loss of the dead over a round of chilled corn whiskey. 

Not Franz, though. He didn't deserve a drink. 

...

⟬ 37 bells, 19 minutes, 52 seconds remaining... ⟭ 

The next visitor was-- 

"Pale?" Tycondrius grimaced, "What is it?"

The Hero of his Realm had arrived. 

His armor was a bit more worn than it was 9 bells prior, but the boy had been fighting for the majority of that time. 

Thus, Tycon decided to forgive the notion. 

"I'm... I'm alive, Sir," Pale said with a polite bow of his head. 

"I can see that," Tycon waved. "Good. I'd rather you alive than not. Why are you here?"

Was the battle over?

No... 

Maybe?

⟬ Pale, Adamatine-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ⟭

After breaking his limiter, it was entirely plausible that Pale had defeated a few thousand fire denizens in the time allotted. 

"Sir, there are uh... Fire Snakes?" 

Tycon pursed his lips, "Are they on our side?"

"...I don't think so," Pale answered-- "which is why Troia sent me to get you."

"Elevennnn heavens," Tycon groaned. 

He stepped outside of the tent, back into the dry, sweltering heat. 

He yelled-- very loudly, projecting his voice with a precise cone of mana. 

He gathered a Cataclysm Hydra and a slither of Fire Snakes and lorded his rank and title over them, before field-promoting the hydra and arming them with an Efreet scimitar. 

...

⟬ 36 bells, 45 minutes, 3 seconds remaining... ⟭ 

Tycon lifted the tent flap. 

...and saw no one there. 

Curious.

He was fairly certain he sensed someone at the entrance. 

Tycon wondered if they snuck inside. 

He glanced back to the group of Efreeti at the card table, a pile of gems and fineries as their wagers. They were fine. 

And the other hellborne? 

The Clock Devil was tending to a braised meat dish over the cookfire. The Sloth Demon was kneading dough in preparation for the next batch of cheese bread. 

Franz...

Franz was standing by, adjacent to the full liquor bar, sweating profusely and breathing precious air he scarcely deserved. 

They were all accounted for. 

Pale was napping on a lion fur pelt, his head lying on Troia's lap. 

That was reasonable. 

Tycon was about to close the tent flap if it weren't for a noise. 

"Mm."

Furrowing his brows, Tycon looked down... at a demon with a terrifyingly minuscule presence. 

"Mister Maltwick... has anyone ever told you you'd make an excellent Assassin Demon?"

"No."

...That was Maltwick's response: a simple, concise answer. 

Tycon respected that. 

"State thy business, noble friend. Should you require more resources, I will see to it that the full might of Infernus Invictus aids you in your endeavors."

But Maltwick did not come to ask for resources. He was not that sort of demon. 

He held out his hands, cradling... what appeared to be a small insect, snug in his palms. 

Tycon took the offered creature with great care. 

"Most excellent, Dig-Captain Maltwick," he nodded. "Any reward you desire for this achievement, I can make it so."

Maltwick nodded quietly. 

"(I will go back now.)"

"To dig, Mister Maltwick?"

"Yes... to dig."

And so the noble Maltwick departed. 

Tycon rendered that demon a salute, strong and sincere-- understanding well that that fellow neither knew nor cared for the affectation. 

Afterward, Tycon walked to where Pale was resting, "Boy! Your rest period if over!"

The young Hero startled awake, "Wha-- what? Are we under attack?"

"Of course we are," Tycon groaned, "We're in the middle of hostile territory. But that is irrelevant. I have a mission for you, one you are uniquely qualified for."

[What's in your hand?] the Holy Princess signed. 

Tycon held his open palm forward toward the two of them. 

"This... is a Demon Bug Queen-- and the solution to our lack of personnel."

[We have over 3500 soldiers,] Troia signed with a frown. 

"Indeed," Tycon sighed. "I'd hoped for at least thrice that."

"O-okay," Pale said as he sat up on his knees. "What do you want me to do, Boss?"

Tycon knelt down in front of Pale. 

"I need you to seduce her."

Pale placed his hands on his lap. 

He blinked several times.

"What?"

Tycon assumed the boy only asked because he had yet to awaken fully. 

"I need you to seduce her," he repeated.

"...How do I do that?" Pale asked.

"I... don't know," Tycon answered honestly. 

[My Hero is NOT,] Troia began... then she waved her palm around her opposite finger, before making a double-pulling motion. 

However, whatever she was trying to say was unimportant. 

Tycon placed the insect--

⊰ My Name is Jægerin. ⊱ 

Ah. Very well.

Tycon placed the agreeable child into the Hero's outstretched hands. 

"Um, good afternoon... Jaegerin," Pale said, bowing awkwardly. 

⊰ Good Afternoon, Hero. ⊱ 

⊰ I Was Born to Serve Sol Invictus, ⊱ 

⊰ Just As My Father Did, Before Me. ⊱ 

Hm. That was promising. 

--though the notion of Jaegerin's sire was a mystery to him. 

[Did I just gain a new rival?] signed a pouty Holy Princess. 

"Get acquainted, you three," Tycon ordered. "I aim to deploy in two bells."