The horde

In the dimly lit throne room of his castle, Hades, the enigmatic ruler of the demon realm, contemplated the recent events that unfolded in the mortal village. A lingering curiosity compelled him to ascertain whether Beelzebub, one of his subordinates, played a role in the mysterious plague that had befallen the villagers.

It was not an accusation, merely a desire for information, and he also doesn't want to crash his subordinate's plan.

Summoning Beelzebub to the throne room, Hades confronted the enigmatic demon with a measured curiosity.

"Beelzebub, have you been involved in the affliction that befell the mortal village at the outskirt of the kingdom?" Pointing at the coordinates on the map he inquired, his tone void of accusation.

Beelzebub, a creature draped in shadows with eyes gleaming like infernal embers, responded with an air of innocence, "What are you talking about, my lord? I have no involvement in such matters."

Hades nodded, accepting the denial without visible emotion. As Beelzebub departed the throne room, the demon king found himself plunged into contemplation. If not Beelzebub, then who could be the architect of this affliction? The answer eluded him, shrouded in the veils of uncertainty.

In the midst of his contemplation, Azazel, another of his subordinates, entered the throne room.

"My lord," he announced with a bow, "The group tasked with the information gathering have discovered a den of lizardmen in the outskirts of a forest called Froz. They possess unique characteristics, and I believe they could be valuable additions to our forces."

Hades, intrigued by the prospect, listened as Azazel vividly described the lizardmen, their scales glinting like obsidian under the castle's ethereal lighting. The demon king, though indifferent to many things, saw potential in subduing these creatures for future use.

As Azazel continued his report, he suggested, "Even though these lizardmen may not pose an immediate threat, my lord, subduing them and bringing them under our subordination could prove valuable. They may serve as potent pawns in our machinations when the opportune time arises."

Hades, the eternal strategist, considered Azazel's proposal. The enigma of the plague in the mortal village momentarily pushed to the periphery of his thoughts. The prospect of acquiring new pawns, even in the form of lizardmen, appealed to his penchant for strategic foresight.

"Very well, Azazel," Hades replied with a nod. "Subdue the lizardmen and bring them into our fold. Their presence may indeed become a valuable asset in the intricate tapestry of our dominion." With those words, the demon king returned to his contemplation, the mystery of the village plague intertwined with the threads of his ever-evolving schemes.

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Azazel, the demon charged with the task of subduing the lizardmen, wasted no time in preparing a formidable force that would instill terror in the hearts of these reptilian denizens. The throne room buzzed with frenetic energy as he summoned and assembled a nightmarish assembly of demons, a display of power meant to crush the spirits of the lizardmen into submission.

Leading the terrifying troops were the mischievous imps, their cackles echoing ominously through the castle halls. Alongside them, towering demon golems emanated an aura of brute strength, while skeletal warriors, remnants of battles long past, clattered their bones in anticipation.

In the midst of this unholy legion stood the archlich, a master of necromancy, orchestrating the macabre dance of the undead. And riding alongside them were the hecarims, demonic equine entities that seemed to embody both speed and spectral menace.

The strength of this infernal army varied, ranging from tier 4 to tier 6 demons, each contributing a unique malevolence to the impending campaign. The goal was clear—to showcase their overwhelming might and intimidate the lizardmen into submission through sheer terror.

Once all preparations were complete, the demon troops gathered at the gates of the castle, their demonic forms outlined against the crimson hues of the setting sun. Azazel, a figure of dark authority, surveyed the assembled horde with a calculated satisfaction. The time had come to march upon the den of the lizardmen.

The air crackled with an ominous energy as the troops, a coalition of nightmare-inducing entities, prepared to unleash their malevolence upon the unsuspecting lizardmen. The ground beneath them trembled as the demonic legion began its descent, marching down the gates of the castle with an orchestrated chaos that promised annihilation.

Endless shadows clung to the demonic horde as they moved in unison, a relentless force bound by the will of Hades himself. The march of the infernal army, a prelude to the impending confrontation with the lizardmen, reverberated through the castle walls, marking the onset of a demonic ballet that would unfold on the outskirts of the demon realm.

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As the sun dipped below the horizon, cloaking the demon realm in an eerie twilight, Azazel stood at the forefront of the assembled demonic legion. The grotesque silhouette of the imp, demon golem, skeletal warriors, archlich, and hecarims painted a surreal tableau against the dimming skies. The air itself seemed to shiver with an unsettling anticipation, as though the very fabric of the demonic realm responded to the imminent descent of malevolence upon the lizardmen's den.

Azazel's eyes, aflame with demonic essence, surveyed the nightmarish amalgamation of his troops. Each demon exuded an aura of sinister purpose, ready to unleash their otherworldly might upon the unsuspecting lizardmen. The imp, with its devilish grin, darted between the legs of the imposing demon golem, while skeletal warriors rattled their bones in a macabre prelude to battle.

Amidst the horde, the archlich raised a skeletal hand, commanding the spirits of the undead with an arcane authority. The hecarims, demonic equine entities, pawed at the ground impatiently, ethereal flames flickering in their eyes. It was a gathering of demonic forces, each entity contributing a unique form of terror to the unfolding campaign.

Azazel, with a resonant voice that echoed through the castle grounds, addressed his demonic legion. "Tonight, we show the might of the demon realm. Let fear be our herald, and submission our triumph. The lizardmen shall tremble before our infernal might!"

The demonic troops, fueled by a malevolent fervor, responded with guttural roars and unholy chants. The atmosphere crackled with an otherworldly energy as Azazel, with a wave of his hand, signaled the commencement of their descent upon the lizardmen's domain.

The gates of the castle swung open with an ominous creak, revealing the demonic legion arranged in a menacing formation. The ground beneath their collective weight groaned, as if burdened by the sheer malevolence they embodied. The castle's shadows clung to the demonic horde, an undulating mass of darkness descending upon the outskirts of the demon realm.

As they marched, the demonic entities emanated an aura that transcended mortal comprehension—a fusion of terror and dark elegance. The archlich, wielding the arcane forces of necromancy, led the skeletal warriors in a silent procession. The hecarims galloped with spectral grace, their hooves barely making a sound on the infernal soil.

The demonic march, an orchestrated symphony of malice, reverberated through the castle's corridors and resonated in the caverns of the demon realm. The night air itself seemed to recoil as the legion approached the portal leading to the lizardmen's den.

The gates creaked closed behind them, sealing the demonic horde in a cocoon of malevolent shadows. Beyond the portal, the realm of the lizardmen awaited, unaware of the impending tempest that would soon descend upon their tranquil abode. The demonic ballet had begun, and the demon king's will manifested itself through the relentless march of his infernal army.