152 Interlude - The Demon General

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"General Bazoar!" Margrave Alpas shrieked. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

"… Gahahahahah! I've done a lot of things. You're going to have to be more exact than that."

General Bazoar was a tall, noble-looking man with dark curly hair and a tall aquiline nose. One could even liken him to a certain Julius Caesar – if Caesar had a broad, thug-like chin and eyes that showed the low cunning of wild animal.

Margrave Alpas was a pudgy man with a long handlebar mustache. Though technically his was a noble military rank as well, he wore a fine soft leather vest with ruffled sleeves in contrast to the burnished steel of the General. He pointed with a shaking finger behind the General.

"Is it my summoned partner? Do you also think that the summon reflects the true nature of a person?" he said through wide white teeth. "Are you a believer of that hideously greedy God of Justice that treats all born with [Dark] affinities as cursed beings who need to always pay for their sins, Margrave Alpas?"

"N-no. Of course not. I mean – is that… is that Zorah?!"

The general looked behind him, and indeed hanging upside down on one red fist trussed up like a caterpillar in its cocoon, was Zorah Zorea Zenovivi. The creature that held her was tall, needing to bend down to enter the door.

It had the furred legs and cloven hooves of a cow, the upper body and muscular physique of a man with ochre red skin, the wings of a bat, and the face and horns of a goat.

"Yes it is I, Zorah," Zorah spoke dully. "And you are as corpulent and useless as ever, Apolyon Alpas."

"Throw it baaack…!" the Margrave moaned.

General Bazoar scowled down at his captive. "What *is* it with you Zenovis that people despise the sight of you more than being afraid of seeing a Demon Lord?"

Then he turned towards the nobleman and ordered "Gather the men! I will speak to them about our prize and our glory!"

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In this world, the word 'regular' and 'Regulus' probably shared the same root. Back when the Great Regulan Legions were still stomping about up and down the continent, if there was one thing you could rely upon, it was Regulus being so predictable and regular imposing the same set of codes wherever they go no matter how stupid infeasible it may be for the climate or the terrain.

Every castra looked the same as any other castra, and for all that Regulus was brutal at the smallest hint of rebellion at least as long as you regularly paid their tithe in material and manpower, they would largely leave you and your local customs alone.

Regulus were perpetually determined to be foreigners in every land they occupied, it was always the locals that had to adapt to them instead of vice versa. And so it was that Regulus language, Regulus measurements, and Regulus systems of commerce became the default through the continent. It was all Regular.

Alpas Castra, formerly Zenovis Castra, was built in the lowlands because unlike the Western castles built on high places for defense, castras were aggressively located to be staging points for military expeditions. It consisted of a round central citadel with a square fort around it.

Much of the first floor was open space. There was room for the entire augmented cohort of about 280 men to stand at attention, with a stage near the center. Of these, 160 were infantry, 60 were archers and skirmishers, 40 were light cavalry, and 20 were battlefield and support mages.

General Guron Bazoar stepped up to the podium, and following to stand behind him again was his terrifying familiar, the Demon Lord. Following closely behind was the Margrave in charge and his aide-de-camp/butler.

"Officers! Up front!" Bazoar shouted.

Immediately, the officers separated from their squads and stood in line in front of the stage.

"Present yourselves!" he ordered.

They stamped their feet and saluted and began reporting one by one from starting from the far left.

"Sir! Knight-Commandant Heath Reedy, Alpas First Foot Heavy Guards Company sir!"

"Sir! Lieutenant Asic Holmise, Alpas First Foot, Second Company sir!"

"Sir! Lieutenant Kelton Bayern, Alpas First Foot, Third Company sir!"

"Sir! Captain, Ossie Crawford, Alpas Second Foot, Archer Section sir!"

"Sir! Captain Gage Beverly, Support Company, Artillery Section sir!"

"Sir! Mage-Captain Janna Eastone, Alpas Magician Company sir!"

"Sir! Knight-Captain Carmyn Audlye, Alpas First Light Lance Squadron sir!"

"Sir! Knight-Lieutenant Wist Glassy, Alpas First Dragoons Squadron sir!"

General Bazoar saluted back and nodded. "Good. Men of Regulus! You know me. I am Guron Bazoar, General of the Sixth Army, Mad Wolf of Regulus! I have come here to the border, alone without my Army, to bring you the good news!"

He swept his arm beside him. "Do you know what this is?"

-- "A demon!" someone gasped.

-- "Something that big - so much weight, that magic presence! A Demon Lord!"

-- "General Bazoar commands a being like that? How powerful!"

-- "Impossible, how is he even providing the magic to keep it existing this long on this plane?"

The general beamed. Yes. That was more like it.

The whispered comments continued:

-- "Wait, that person there… that lady tied up upside down… is that Zorah?"

-- "Oh fucking hell, it _is_ Zorah."

-- "Throw it baaaackk…!"

Bazoar scowled and dropped his hand. "Yes. I have brought you your great enemy. I know a lot of you haven't been born yet in the great war twenty years ago, but for so long the boast of this family is that they *alone* stand between Belfast and the Empire. Twenty years ago - our glorious Emperor broke them! We punched through the Zeno Gap and were rushing all the way towards their capital.

"It cost us the Third Army and half of the Fourth, but we did it! If we didn't meet a bunch of beasts and stabbed in the back by traitor pacifists we would have won! It was a GOOD war.

"But this Zorah creature is acting like that never happened. Like they fucking won that war instead of us pulling out from the waste of time because we had more serious things to do against Rodmere!

"Are you not annoyed? Are you not insulted?!"

He glared at all of them, and then to the Margrave who stood beside him. Short and fat with ruffled sleeves compared to his height and muscle. The margrave shrugged. "We're kind of used to it. They're mostly harmless as long as you stay out of their way."

"As long as you stay out their- WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT. How can men of my glorious Army allow themselves to be pushed around by some piffling fucking aristocrat in some piffling fucking backwater!"

"... I'm a backwater…!" Margrave Alpas mumbled and turned aside, tears in his little eyes.

General Bazoar turned back to the men standing in line. "The world has forgotten the might and power of the Empire! We used to be better than this! Our Emperor used to be young, afraid of nothing, a god of war! Now he is old, and they think the Empire is weak.

"Maybe we need to remind them all again why the whole continent shakes when we bother to make a move."

The officers tried hard to keep confusion from their faces. What? Isn't that tantamount to declaring war? General! What have you done?!

"I know that most of you were barely even in your mother's stomachs during that time. And now none of you are blooded. You play at guards in a contested frontier. You're more skilled at trading insults than trading blows! I am giving you this - this opportunity of your lives! Prove yourselves better. Prove that you have the blood of warriors in you!

"I alone," as long as one counted a familiar as an accessory and not another individual "braved the Zeno gap, blasted through the Castle Zenovi, and brought to you the thing that makes you bunch of milksops quiver in fear! Now what shall we do with her?"

Only stunned silence was the response to his words.

"Well? Speak up!" he roared.

"They are weak little nancy boys," said Zorah. "And girls, I suppose. You can't just give me to them like a cat presenting a mouse that they caught. They have no idea what to do with such a treat."

-- "Zorah is not a treat, she is a /threat/…" someone had to blurt out.

-- "Throw it baaack…" another moaned again.

"Uh… with all due respect, Lord General, kidnapping Zorah is bad enough, doing *anything* to her may be war-worthy offense."

"That IS the point, you weak-kneed monkeys. Lord Marquis Zenovivi is already dead by my hand, you are looking at Heir Marquis Zenovivi right now, and if we kill her, then that whole stupid lineage will end, and Zeno Gap is defenseless!"

"But that's war!"

"Are you not soldiers?! War is your reason for existence, fear not war, but run to it happily! Like a child to its mother!"

"War is something… only the Emperor can decide that! We can't do anything like that without the Emperor's permission..!"

"The Emperor can't actually give permission for this, idiot."

"Is this about the Emperor's rumored ill health and we have to stabilize the succession by proving the strength and stability of the Empire…?" Margrave Alpas muttered. "I guess I can see why that might be a good thing to some... as long as it seems like Belfast struck first."

"You can think that, yes," the general replied.

He turned towards the assembled men-at-arms. "You never experienced it - you only lived a life of peace. But Regulus… Regulus is BEST at war. No bandits on the road - they never dared any road that needed soldiers able to cross at best speed. No one went hungry - all storehouses were open, and price gouging had the death penalty. Nobles didn't dare to throw around their degenerate weight and slake their lusts anymore - they knew we would all hang them under military law!

"No-name nobodies can become Generals! You just have to earn your rights by killing the Empire's enemies! Only in chaos like that can you separate the useless from the strong! The unworthy of their title from the ones who earn it by merit! This is the time nobles are forged and heroes are made! Those who would fucking stop Regulus from improving in the best way are the real traitors! The evil they do to its people is to kill their soul!

"War… war is good for Regulus. It is too late for you to stop it. You have no right to stop it! Now, here! Here is your enemy! Do as you want. That is the province of the strong!"

-- "... well I have been curious about why she wears so much powder cake on her face," someone mentioned offhand. "But it could be worse. What if she's not hiding some great deformity or something?"

-- "What, like she's somehow really pretty or something and only someone who can tolerate her entire… Zorah-ness… ever gets to see it or something?"

-- "No, I mean, what if she's just really plain. That would be so underwhelming. I don't want to waste those minutes of my time."

-- "We could just throw her into a well or something?"

-- "We have military laws against polluting the drinking water."

The General was left nonplussed for a moment. He stared down at Zorah and asked with an odd timbre "Is… is this a curse? What is it with you Zenovis? Everybody hates you but no one actually gives a damn enough about you to kill you directly. I just met you, but already I hate you. I want you to die."

"YOUR FACE is a curse!" Zorah shot back.

The Demon Lord tilted its goat face and flames erupted from its eyes. It spoke in eerie cracking noises that only General Bazoar could understand. Kchrrrk. Krrk. Krrckk.

Kreck?

And the soldiers were continuing like gossipy hens:

-- "So, what, until now she doesn't get married because of stupid unrealistic expectations?"

-- "Well we know Zorah has some form of common strength boosting personal magic. What if she just applies it everywhere? This is a woman that head-butted the steel gate to the Regulus side of the Zeno Gap and left a dent.

-- "If she doesn't like you and you were stupid enough to think she's yielding and defenseless - squish. Goodbye, my son!" A loud clap. "Sausage pancake."

-- "A life of much suffering and tragedy, most of it self-inflicted."

"Is there really no one in this Army with the intestines to take a swing?" Bazoar sighed. He had enough and pointed. "You there. Take your sword and just stick it into this witch."

The officer blinked and pointed at his own face. Then on confirming that it was him, he reluctantly went up to the stage, drew his sword, and faced Zorah's completely unimpressed expression.

"Doesn't feel right to kill a defenseless prisoner, sir."

-- People down below comment "Yeah but if you think about it, if we allow Zorah to put her feet down, she would wreck stone and then soon wreck face."

-- "I don't wanna get mah face wrecked today."

The soldier up on stage looked down at Zorah, at the General, then down past the line of officers standing on attention to his own troops. The general infantry didn't know what to expect from this. "Sir… Lord General, sir… this is dishonorable. I refuse this order and accept the consequences, please only spare my men who have nothing to do with this decision."

General Bazoar palmed his face and sighed. "I don't even know what I was expecting. There is no hope here anymore. Even my Third Army has grown soft from the fat of peace, and here in the border we have weak yapping dogs. Oh, my poor Regulus. What happened to you?"

"Sorry, Lord General, but we are loyal to the military chain of command, and we can't do anything without official orders from the capital."

General Bazoar slumped over the podium. "An Emperor that once set soldier's heart's aflame is now just weak and useless old man. Heirs that are cowards and in bed with the enemy. An Army once famous for never hesitating, now formed of weak-hearted fools. We don't need these things."

"Sir! What you say may amount to treason and rebellion! I respectfully ask that you recant those words and this will never have happened."

General Bazoar rested on one elbow with his grizzled cheek on his palm. "You know what else is good about making a contract with a Demon Lord?" the general whispered. "A Demon Lord is a commander of Hell's Armies. And in exchange for a sacrifice, a summoner gets access to all his army too."

He waved nonchalantly. "Feed."

==

And the shadows erupted.

Bony hands came out of the shadows beneath soldiers and dragged them down, hands holding knives sank into them, and they were devoured into negative space.

From flames, imps and other small demons leaped out. Their screeches mixed in with the screaming.

Wooden floors broke apart, and from the darkness underneath legless flesh beasts with worms for bottom bodies and torsos of men with faces of slugs punched out.

Skeletal soldiers stepped out of corners.

"Demons!" cried out soldiers as they fought for their lives.

"Why did we expect them to act against their nature?! Damn you, Bazoar!"

"The general's gone mad! Stop him! FOR REGULUSSS!"

"General, you deserve this!" The mage officer raised her wand and quickly chanted "[Water], shatter my foe! Icicle Lance!"

A spear of ice quickly shot forth, with the speed and force of crossbow. It stopped in mid-air before reaching the general, and melted back into water, and then into nothing. He grinned.

She got speared from the back by a lance of solidified shadow. She gurgled out blood in disbelief, and tried to grab the tip of the lance before being pulled under and absorbed by that sinister and impossibly dark pool.

"Lord General Bazoar, why…?!" someone whimpered.

"Traitor!"

"Help!"

"Mages! Send wo-ghurk!"

Margrave Alpas tried to run away, but was captured by a monstrous spider with a human's face. The aide-de-camp tried to slash at the creature, only to be run through by a leg that ended in a wicked spike.

The fires spread, and the shadows deepened. The general simply continued to stand there, casually leaning on the podium, as around him loyal soldiers of Regulus were butchered and turned into more unholy creatures under the Demon Lords' command.

He looked at his own gauntleted hands, and the pair of silver bracers around his forearms. He had always been contracted to a Demon Lord, and the sacrifice of bandits had bought him strength and power, to be spent in untraceable killing ambushes for his enemies, but it was not enough against the might of organized Regulus. He was an unequal partner to that contract, he knew.

Enough generals supported his plans for revolt against the weak dying Emperor and his even more useless children, but others balked at the notion of using demons to supplement the army.

Everything changed once he got his hands on these two Ancient Civilization artifacts. Given how astoundingly powerful they were, and the ease by which he acquired them, it was almost like they practically dropped out of the sky to land on his feet. The heavens themselves wanted him to succeed!

Now he was the one the Demon Lord was incredibly incentivized to keep alive and happy. Only through him could the Demon Lord be maintained practically indefinitely on this plane.

"I am invincible. I am the man chosen by the gods," General Bazoar spoke with a wide bloody grin. "And nothing I do is wrong."

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