The Barons Prize

This wasn't a war.

Those four words looped through her mind as she placed her hands on the rail guard, turning her snout up at the vista. The continent sprawled like a sea of dirt and ash in all the cardinal directions, broken up by blocky protrusions that had once been settlements. These ruins curved northward like veins, terminating at a chain of crooked mountaintops that brought forth recollections of her birthplace, their jagged shapes rising up into the sky like the grasping energies of sacrificed souls.

A distasteful aura radiated from the land, a swirling crimson fog hanging thick upon the air. It oozed from the contusions that pulled apart the ruins in clefts of pink flesh, turning what had once been stretches of flora and buildings into engorged pustules bristling with wriggling appendages.

These swaths of corruption were fleeting. small enough to be covered by her hand, but the gluttony of Hell was unending, and every mote of dust would be consumed in time. Hell didn't even need to deploy its legions, the planet would be laid to waste through no other cost but time.

How trite of us.

The natives of this planet - this

Earth

- were coincidentally susceptible to the influence of Sin, leading further credence to those four words looping through her mind like a bad thought. Within two weeks of invasion, most of the major indigenous landmarks had been destroyed. Within a month, and entire countries had been ceded to Hell's armies, and any resistance had been reduced to pitiful squabbles lacking meaningful difficulty.

"One would think promises from the

Gods

would hold the most merit," she muttered aloud. "but it seems even the ascendent can be audacious. Wouldn't you agree,

priest?

"

She had heard his footsteps before he'd even entered the antechamber, his shoeless feet slapping against the stairs with a wet quality she found wholly disturbing. She turned from the railing, seeing a scrawny figure pass through the archway on the far side of the room. He was cloaked in a dark robe gilded with yellow trimmings, his beady face obscured behind a cowl. Only his forearms and feet were exposed, and branded upon his pale skin were several runes and symbols of the Dark Lord, each curve and trace glowing with yellow energy.

Those runes gave him some meek measure of leadership and power among the other corrupted humans in her charge, but his authority dwindled in the face of her own, mouthpiece and lesser creature that he was.

"You are right of course, my Baroness," he replied, his high-pitched tone torturing her ear-holes. "Every mortal and immortal alike lives only for itself. E-Except you, of course, you deserve better than their falsities."

"

A world to conquer, with armies millions strong,

" she quoted, gesturing behind her with a red arm.

"A gift to expand your dominion

- those were the precise words. Yet this city was halfway abandoned by the time the portals opened. A pack of mentally-impaired cacodemons could have taken care of this place, for all the 'conquering' that was 'gifted' to me."

"Your campaign has not been without its battles," the priest pointed out, raising a crooked finger. "The Rallypoint to the north yet stands."

Her nostrils flared. The Rallypoint was a human fortress hugging the coastline, a decrepit attempt by the natives to hold claim to their world, it had played a key part in harbouring the natives when Hell arrived at the city outskirts. She had seen it as an annoyance at first, but over time, the Rallypoint had stood fast against her advances, even her saboteurs had failed to penetrate the minds of its denizens. Attacking it directly was folly, those giant guns lining the battlements obliterating anything that walked or flew too close. Such stalwart defences had inspired caution among the demonic. Even the wild packs of imps gave the fortress a wide berth.

"A two-month-long siege does not constitute

battle

, you imbecile," she snarled. "A Titan would make quick work of those cretins, but it seems my wait for reinforcement is eternal, and I must resort to letting

starvation

do my fights for me."

"The Lord only spares the great Ancients for more... significant targets," the priest reminded, bowing his head when she glared at him. "N-Not to imply your goals are not lucrative, my Baroness. Your grip on this territory is fierce, the cowards hiding behind those walls are proof enough. In addition, the amount of souls you've offered is only surpassed by the magnitude of your-"

"Oh, be silent you ministrating monkey."

"S-Sorry, your excellence, sorry..."

The priest gulped as she turned away, rolling her eyes in the process. He wasn't really a

priest,

just another acolyte with more rituals under his belt than the average corrupted mortal. She just liked to call him that to try and goad him on, always lacing the word with a hint of sarcasm, but he never wavered in being a kiss-ass.

"Did I ever tell you of my exploits in the Burning Peaks?" she asked, not bothering to wait for his answer. "My first time leading a force was there. I took a hundred Barons into the crags, tearing apart whatever moved. The ravines were so tight that the gore piled up to our knees. Blood and ash paved our path and it was

glorious

."

She licked her tusks, almost moaning that last part out.

"Where I come from, battles went unending, and all one sees is death. Now what do I see?" she asked, her mood flipping as she raised her arms. "

Milquetoasts

. Why we ever considered this planet a conquest is beyond me. More bountiful souls could have been found elsewhere."

"The Maykyrs offering this planet was a

bargain

, the quality of human souls had little to do with it," the priest corrected, backing away when she growled down at him.

"Do not speak the name of those condescending cabbages, they have

made

nothing," she snapped, eyeing the horizon once more. "Oh, but

their

planet, on the other hand... Imagine the

energy

that could be had if we conquered lands cultivated by

Gods.

The thought alone is positively

delicious...

"

A flock of flying imps soared before her balcony from left to right, their bat-like wings folding out to catch on the gale, quickly distancing into little dots.

"Alas, I must content myself with naught but this

stalemate

," she grumbled, leaning her weight on the railing. "A single stronghold that is too small to be considered a threat to warrant a Titan, but large enough to deter my numbskulled legions."

"Perhaps the news I bring may lighten your...

surly

, mood?" the priest suggested, the sound of his slapping feet growing louder as he drew deeper into the chamber.

"I assumed you didn't climb all those steps just to prester me," she muttered. "Out with it,

priest

."

"As you requested, we've been monitoring the human channels for messages, and our saboteurs have intercepted a transmission," he explained.

"Tell me why some errant radio signal is worth disturbing my thoughts, again?"

"Well, we are not quite sure what the contents of the package are -

yet

- we are confident its recipient was someone within the Rallypoint."

She rolled her eyes. "Of

course

it was for the fortress, you fool, where else would a message go to out here?"

"F-Forgive me, Baroness, my lowly assessments are not worth your ear..."

"Who sent this transmission? Do you at least know that much?"

"You can see for yourself, esteemed Baroness," the priest said, daring to cross the chamber. He seemed to shrink away from her the closer he came to the balcony, her presence disturbing his mortal mind on some base level. The feeling was mutual.

"We should be able to see them. Right... about.... eh... any moment now..."

He glanced worriedly up at her, wincing away when he saw her rapidly draining temper. She was about to ask what he meant by

'them'

when the priest raised his calloused hand.

"There! Right there!"

She followed his finger, the digit pointing westward, where the scorched land gave way to ocean, the shimmering water reflecting the sullied shades of the sky. Through the swirling fog at the limits of her vision, three specks appeared, coasting along just above the sea.

As they watched, she began to pick out details. Their flanks were adorned with stubby wings, and their were windows on the noses. Those were aircraft, bombers or maybe transports judging by their bulky shape. The aircraft weren't heading towards her cathedral, but their destination was obvious enough.

"So the human bastion calls for aid?" she mused, folding her arms. "That is far too few ships to sustain an evacuation, they must be carrying troops."

"A brilliant assessment, my Baron! Those transports may be carrying a whole section of armed soldiers."

"I am almost tempted to let them pass," she said, tracking the craft as they banked, flying adjacent to the coastline. "A few squads of fresh souls would provide some modicum of entertainment."

"Perhaps the Baroness... could?" the priest asked, wringing his hands together.

"And let them strengthen the Rallypoint's defences?" she countered. "Who asked you for suggestions, priest?"

"A thousand pardons, my Baron..."

"Explain to me now why I shouldn't slay you for treason," she stated, fixing him with a cold glare. "One would think you still harbour

care

for your former kin, asking your Baroness to show them mercy..."

"M-My Baroness, I serve only to please you!" the priest stammered, bowing his head until it practically hit the floor. "You misunderstand! O-Or rather, th-the choice of my words was foolish of me! I only mean to say that, if you wish to relive your glory days of the Peaks, maybe allowing the humans a small semblance of hope could be the first step on that road..."

She looked over the vista and thought about it. "Interesting hypothesis. Go on."

"A batch of reinforcements could tip the scales of this stalemate," he continued. "They wouldn't ask for assistance if they didn't plan on acting upon it. You may get your battles yet if this situation bears fruit."

"Intentionally put my enemies in a stronger position, as a means to break up the norm?" she said. "That is one of your more...

interesting

ideas, I'll grant you that."

She didn't think a single section of soldiers was much of a contention, but she was thinking from Hell's perspective. For the rebels, that might as well be a whole other army coming to help. She couldn't afford to let her visions of the past lead to complacency, however, who knew what other cargo those transports carried?

"Your suggestion pleases me," she eventually conceded. "I will let those transports go to their little fort."

"Of course, Baroness, I will-"

"

Except

one," she interjected. "Order a pack of cacodemons to tear one asunder, I don't care which, but the other transports are to be left untouched. Tell them I will personally rip out their eyes out if they fail to do so."

"Yes, yes, of course." The priest bowed repeatedly as she listed off her orders. When he didn't dismiss himself, she thrust an arm at the staircase, and he slinked off without a word, vanishing through the arch.

She heaved a sigh of priest-free air, scratching at a horn as she watched the aircraft soar north. It wasn't long before a series of shapes rose from the base of her cathedral, the rotund bodies of her cacodemons taking flight, ten or so of them beelining for the coast.

She was too far away to witness the finer details of the interception, but a few minutes later, and one of the aircraft was arching down towards the ground, the cacodemons following the smoking fuselage like vultures finishing off a dying animal. As requested, the other two ships were allowed to leave unmolested, disappearing over the hills and vanishing from sight. Destroying all three would have been savagely easy for her flying demons, those transports didn't even have mounted guns to defend themselves.

As she'd posited, this wasn't a

war

. It was a

slaughter

, and just where was the nuance in that?

-xXx-

Cold wind rushed against his black combat armour as Andreas emerged onto the deck, tugging his helmet beneath his arm as he descended the gantry. Dozens of flight personnel dashed by, their shouts distorted by the sound of spooling engines and warning sirens.

Stencilled beneath his boots was a giant logo, the symbol emblazoned at the forefront of the steel runway. Three bars formed a wall around a globe of Earth, the letters

ARC

written beneath it. The ARC was the first - and only - line of defence against the demonic invasion of Earth, and the carrier acted as the mobile command centre for the entire Coalition.

The fleet had been patrolling the North Atlantic since its inception, searching for key opportunities to strike back at Hell's forces. His stomach just couldn't tolerate the constant

rocking

, and he couldn't wait to be back on dry land despite the demons making it their new playground.

He proceeded over a pair of painted flight lanes, arriving at the runway's flank. About a dozen identical dropships stretched down the flight deck, their aerodynamic hulls pockmarked with exhaust vents and thrusters, their matte grey paint jobs reflecting the morning light. Pilots in jumpsuits and matching flight helmets could be seen inside the bubble-shaped canopies, giving thumbs-ups to the engineers working the last-minute flight checks.

He made for the closest dropship along, the thrusters on the twin nozzles flaring to life, Andreas wincing at the piercing noise as he pulled on his helmet. It connected to the collar of his chestpiece with a pneumatic hiss, creating an airtight seal, his breath fogging up his visor as it automatically dimmed like a pair of transition glasses. A heads-up display flickered on in the corners of his vision, graphics like his ammunition counter and vital signs glowing in shades of blue. Gear like this cost more than most marines would make in a lifetime, but that wasn't just because of the fancy HUD and accompanying pressure suit.

"All set in there, Eva?" Andreas asked, rapping the top of his helmet with a fist.

"Stop hitting me you bozo," a synthetic, but distinctly female voice replied inside his helmet. "I may be surrounded by layers of Kevlar and synthetic plating, but my lattice still responds to kinetic energy."

ARC had uploaded Eva into his armoured suit, the AI serving as a mouthpiece for the higher-ups and as his personal combat assistant. Most commissioned marines in the Coalition had some sort of helper on-call, be that a real person or otherwise, and Eva was running across several platforms aside from Andreas', her main power core situated somewhere on the lower deck of the carrier.

He moved round to the rear of the dropship, stepping onto the lowered ramp. Lining either side of the cramped interior were rows of crash couches, all save for one occupied by his fellow marines, though their armour was painted over in the standard green. The cargo bay was separated from the cockpit by a small archway, the pilot peeking through to give him a thumbs-up.

"The section's all ready, sir," the pilot said, his voice coming through the speakers in his helmet, Eva doing him the courtesy of patching him into the local channel. "Just say the word."

Andreas signalled back to the pilot, and the ramp began to close, the whine of hydraulics filling the cabin. The spooling engines rumbled the grating beneath his feet, Andreas moving down the aisle towards the free seat.

"Seargent," one of the marines greeted, offering a prim salute, the rest of the seven men inside following suit.

"Time for formalities has passed, boys," Andreas replied, waving for them to be at ease. "It's Hell on Earth out there, hope you brought enough ammo."

He planted himself in the crash couch, placing his pack and weapon into the slots beside the chair, reaching up to secure the harness over his chest. As soon as he was strapped in, he felt the aircraft roll forward, pitching to the side as the pilot lined them up with the runway.

"This is a bad plan," Eva chimed. "The demonic presence on the Spanish coast is at level four going on five. Approaching via boat would be a far safer option."

"All part of the job description," Andreas replied, drumming his fingers against the harness.

"Considering you were a security guard when this all started, I doubt that

'flying through demon-infested skies with volatile Argent cells in the hold,'

was in your

job description

."

"Security

officer

," Andreas corrected. "And they're not

volatile

, those cases are indestructible."

"Clearly you haven't been to Mars in a while. Some of those bases were completely vapourised."

He lurched as the dropship took off, reaching a hundred kilometres an hour in an instant and beginning a climb. He knew there were pistons built into the runway that would snap forward once the aircraft was at full throttle, sort of like a giant spring-loader built for planes. His left side crushed into his harness, the pressure relenting once the aircraft began to level out.

Through the portholes, he could see they were banking, Andreas looking out to see a great ocean spanning the world below. There were other ships dotting the water, curdles of foam forming arrowheads in their wake. The flotilla was comprised of hundreds of naval craft of every type, from patrol boats to battleships, forming a protective cordon around the carrier. The mobile command centre was giant compared to the rest of the vessels, almost a kilometre long and a hundred meters wide, its sleek hull bristling with guns and communication equipment, the conning tower towards the rear serving as the main bridge, the runway jutting out from below it like a metal maw.

The pilot turned them about, the groaning of metal subsiding as they closed ranks with two other dropships, forming a line. There was a series of comms checks on the local channel as the rest of the section reported in, Andreas replying when it was his turn. Once the pilots had matched speeds, the aircraft turned in synchronicity towards the east, shedding altitude and coming close enough to the ocean that he could make out the waves. Once out of the protection of the ships, they didn't dare fly much higher, as the mist rising off the water would provide cover for their approach, and it had been known that demons liked to use the cloud layers to set up ambushes.

"The admiral has assigned a squadron of fighters to escort," Eva said, pausing before continuing. "Should be able to see them off the portside."

For a moment all he saw was mist, and then a shape began to emerge, the profile of a fighter jet unmistakable. Its jet-black wings were inverted, angled towards the cockpit rather than away like most traditional jets, racks of red-nosed missiles mounted along the hardpoints. Its single thruster projected a cone of blue afterburner, easily outpacing the slower, larger dropships.

The fighter pilot tilted his wings in greeting before soaring up and out of view. A compliment of supersonic jets should put the antsy AI at ease, Andreas thought.

Ten minutes of flying over the ocean passed before there were details on the horizon, Andreas straining out of his seat to look through the cockpit canopy. The sea crashed into a coastline, giving way first to shallow tidepools, then to soil and cliffs. Andreas didn't find living on a boat all that appealing, but seeing the state of the land, it may as well be paradise in comparison.

He could remember a time where Earth was lush with the colour green, complimented by the azure shade of a bright sky. This was no longer the case. Dirt had turned to sullied ash, the remnants of sprawling woodlands reduced to skeletal husks, jutting out of the ground like tombstones. Valleys ran through these ashlands, and while the ocean was still home to water, these ravines now sported cesspools of lava, bubbling with yellow goop that could be seen even from here. These magma tides burned against the shore, forming ovals of obsidian that scabbed the ocean's edges.