First Line Of Defense

Hanging haphazardly atop a metal chandelier was a woman with as many scars on her body as there were hair on her head. Her wrists were bound by a metal band that constantly seared her skin, just enough to prevent her from slumbering through the torture.

Shivering from the icy draft that came through the cracks in the dungeon, Charlotte's naked form hung nearly lifeless as she resisted the effects of the latest alchemical machinations concocted by the half-wit and insidious alchemists under Dagon's employ.

For the last few days, she was but the singular target for the island's malevolence. Her body was a punching bag for exuberant newly risen demons, her stomach a gullet for untested potions, and her mind a receiver for painful spells.

It would only be time before her very soul succumbed to the natural outcome. But, as long as she hoped, as long as she dreamt awake that she would soon be saved from this terrible perdition and be allowed relief through company and love, she would remain on this earth.

The dinghy trapdoor above her dungeon opened, letting in the first rays of sunshine in the last forty-eight hours and giving her a brief reprieve from the unending darkness.

Echoes of fragmented conversations resounded in her broken ears, echoes that formed sentences.

"–something bad."

"Fuck that… basically indomitable."

"The proxy even left us alone after…"

Two demons, deep in conversation, descended the dungeons, within their hands were pill bottles, potions bottles, and an assortment of floras with which Charlotte would have to consume.

"It doesn't matter, though." The demon exclaimed. "Once the gate's open, it's open season for us."

The second demon snorted, "IF it opens. Lord Azazel may be powerful, but you know how he is with his food."

"True," the first demon nodded as it placed the metal basin containing the flowers and fungus atop the table beside Charlotte's trembling form. It's terrible eyes, burning with inky chaos, bore into her naked form, reminding her of what the demons liked to do with her mind.

"You must be awake, witch?" The first demon said, circling her form as it traced its fingers along the length of her longest scars. "I still see hope within your eyes… unbridled, repugnant, instinctive hope. You still think that man will save you when he left you here… alone?"

The demon cackled uproariously when Charlotte, ever so slightly, quivered under its words. Its mind games long further burdening Charlotte in her month's long stay at this infernal hovel.

"This bitch is lucky, Zarotex." The demon remarked to its companion, clicking its tongue in shame. "Lord Dagon holds you life in her hands and she is hoping that your savior will give her… what was the word she used again?"

Zarotex scoffed, clearly not a fan of its companion's fear mongering. Everyone knew that Charlotte had a strong will, unusually so, yet the demon was still trying. Like it was a personal challenge to the infernal creature.

Still, Zarotex replied, "a distraction from Azazel's Proxy."

Charlotte emitted a weak noise, caught only by the demon's enhanced senses.

"What was that?" The first demon leaned in. "Does the little bitch have something to say?"

Charlotte grinned, revealing a daring look on her once obsolete eyes. "He's here."

●●●●●

The Island of Corruption was normally lax in their security, having been the home of dozens of demons, a coven of witches, and the personal sanctuary of a Prince of Hell. Things took to the worse, however, when a human captive escaped the island without so much as a warning from the guards posted at the door and the divinatory witches knowing about it.

It was as if a hole in the universe had swallowed the prisoner up and broke him free of the hundred, if not thousands, of defensive and spatial sigil engraved upon the very Earth of the island.

The mistress of the island, as one would guess, was less than happy regarding this matter. The destruction she wrought had been more devastating than the one that the prisoners had done when they first tried to escape.

As such, newer demons were posted upon the island perimeters, lavishing their feet upon the white sand as a punishment for the dead demons, which were their predecessors.

One such demon was Almotar, a wispy Drazon hailing from Hades, who took it upon itself to guard its area of the island with great intensity. So much so that its partner witch was obnoxiously harassing it for being a kiss-ass.

To Almotar, who a few days ago were writhing in the pits of desolation, guarding some lonely beach in the middle of an ocean was better than his old home. Was it pleasurable? Certainly not. But the fact was that, unless Dagon gave orders to restart operations in the mainland, they all would have to stay here in case of an attack.

Frankly, Almotar thought that she was being paranoid, chalking it up to being a millennia-old demon that had siblings whose schemes had caused far more wanton destruction against demonkin than the humans and heaven combined.

"Anything?" The witch spoke through her familiar.

Almortar sighed, rolling his black eyes in exasperation. "Same old, same–"

A blinding light interrupted its words as the shimmering field surrounding the whole island became deep purple. A wave of oppressive energy suppressed any means of communication, even between a possessor and possessed.

Having been cut off from its meat puppet, Altomar could only watch as the shield that protected the entire island from prying eyes went off in sparks and slowly receded like waves on the on-set of a tsunami.

Below the white clouds that loomed over the island hovered a group of individuals–seven in count. Altomar could barely see through the smoke and ashes coming from the destruction of the shield, but its demonic origin was firing off instinctive signals of fear, dread, and hatred.

There were only a couple of beings that were capable of doing so.

The witch's voice rang on its meat puppet's mind, echoing through its corrupted soul the most obvious thing imaginable.

"The angels are attacking us!"

●●●●●

The destruction of the defensive dome opened the island to attacks from high above, but more than that, it allowed teleportation within the island.

When the demons and demon-adjacent expected a barrage of Enochian fireballs, a hurricane, unlike anything they have seen before, formed a few miles off the island. Nearby inhabitants barely felt the blustering wind of the hurricane, merely perceiving what it represented.

The hurricane approached the island, causing destruction to the witch's familiars and demolishing and hurling away any unbolted structures near the beach. Slowly, but surely, the hurricane subsided both in strength and size as what was once a force of nature were now an army of witches under the command of the former prisoner, Irwin Bellios.

Irwin gazed at the familiar sight, his grin growing greater. His wrath overflowed as he bellowed with all his might.

"Flying Squadron, take control of the air."

Like fireworks, a multitude of multi-color broomsticks and heinous cackles whizzed past him like a bullet late for work as he set the witches of the Grand Coven upon the demons under Dagon's control.

"Grand Witches, on your knees! Katja, don't let the demons overrun ground support!

The four Grand Witches each lead a squadron of menacing witches as they flank the compound on the northern and southern gate, intent on waylaying demonic forces from regrouping and allowing Irwin's group to make way towards the giant pavilion.

The raid had officially begun.

●●●●●

As usual, no chapter tomorrow.

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