Devourer

Grag whimpered as he raised his crossbow. He wasn’t some great warrior of the Legions of Wrath. He was just a bottom-feeder con man from the greed ring; he was just thrown down here because he pissed off the wrong guy.

He doesn’t know how to fight, he thought he would just be guarding a fortress, the best fortress in this eternal battlefield. Grag thought he would be safe but yet here he was, the very fortress he was in, the same fortress lying the Pride Ring’s banner which has not seen battle for a thouand years, it was under attack.

Not by demons but by some kind of Hive, it was like the old stories, how waves of fangs and claws washed over the world. He shot a bolt into the mass of swarming bodies, there were so many of them that he didn’t even have to aim. There was crackle from the cheap ear piece he was wearing and he head this disjointed message.

All stations… prepare… defences are…

“What did that say?” another poorly trained demon said shakily as he looked at Grag.

“No idea…” Grag stammered in response.

At that exact moment, some kind of projectile hit the other soldier in the head. There was a flash of light, and the soldier’s head was turned into a red mist. Grag gapped as he watched the body crumple to the ground.

“They're shooting back!” one voice shouted far down the line.

Grag looked over the wall to see new, horrifying creatures emerge.

It was then that it hit Grag. From the dark recesses of his memory the old stories emerged.

His heart pounded as he remembered the old tale, one whispered around the fires. They called it The Shroud, an ancient, silent magic that feasted on other magic, leaving armies cut off and powerless. It was just another one of the myriad of tools the hive used to smother their enemies.

The tales had warned that The Shroud moved like a shadowed mist, rolling across battlefields, drawn to magic like a moth to flame. When it fell, spellcasters would feel their power wane, their chants swallowed mid-verse, their wards dissolving like smoke. Messages that would have flown instantly to comrades were stopped cold, caught in the thick, enchanted silence. The Shroud turned all magic into dead air, leaving even the brightest mages as helpless as ordinary men.

He glanced down at his crossbow and he saw the glowing runes start to flicker. The Shroud jammed magic, and that means they were in a hell alot of shit…

Retreat…

Repeat…

Retreat…Inner Wall…

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.♚.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“As you can see we are in a bit of a predicament.” Lucifer stated coldly as the projection ended.

“I’m more surprised you managed to get the recording off some grunt.” Beelzebub commented.

“He died shortly after this. Somehow, the recording crystal lasted long enough to send the transmission. Some of my mages suspect he was struck with some sort of Ether attack, which supercharged the transmission just enough to punch through the Shroud.” Lucifer replied. 𐍂ΆΝỒᛒƐŚ

“Ah the age old trick of dumb luck.” Asmodeus said with a laugh.

“A hive with a Shroud. That is concerning…” Leviathan murmurred.

“Concerning enough that we are all here.” Mammon added.

“Indeed…” Satan said.

Beelzebub glanced around the room and surveyed the scene. It was honestly quite the sight, the Lord of the Searing Hells all gathered in one place.

The meeting room was a grand hall carved from obsidian and lit by an eerie, flickering glow that seemed to emanate from within the walls, casting shadows that twisted and contorted like souls in silent agony. Seven towering pillars rose around the room, each fashioned from the unique material of its ruler’s domain, gleaming molten rock, blackened bone, charred iron, poisoned crystal, and more. The floor was a vast expanse of polished onyx veined with molten lava, giving the illusion of walking over a cracked, fiery abyss, and with each step, the glassy surface seemed to tremble, as though barely containing the fury beneath.

At the center stood a table forged from a strange fusion of tortured metals and petrified wood, shaped in a heptagon to represent the unity, and rivalry of the seven rulers. Each side was engraved with symbols of a different ring, pulsating with dark magic that responded to its ruler’s presence. High-backed chairs of ashwood and black iron surrounded the table, each customised subtly to fit the dark aesthetic of its master, from the clawed feet of one to the thorned armrests of another. This was a chamber of convergence for the infernal lords, bound by dark allegiance yet poised on the knife’s edge of betrayal. The call of the seven was only ever enacted when a crisis is at hand. An ancient Hive awakening from a destroyed mine would definately qualify.

Satan’s precious fortress has been completely overrun, the reports say it’s 150 000 strong garrison has been lost, slaughtered to the last. Although that number is abit dramatic, due to the quality of its construction, the fortress was in reality undermanned. 50 000 of the troops were conscripts which were basically useless against an ancient hive. 30 000 were support personnel which were also useless in a fight. That left only 70 000 Pride Ring regulars which were less experienced than your average soldier since the fortress saw so little fighting.

So when the wave of Hive creatures slammed against its defenses, said defenses caved like a tin can.

Honestly, Beelzebub was getting some second thoughts. The speed of which the hive has grown was disconcerting. In a matter of months, the Great Beast has grown an entire army in the Searing Hells, an army that will only prove to grow stronger as time passes. 150 000 dead soldiers was just 150 000 sacks of meat for the Hive. Amongst those in the know anti Hive strategy has one core tenant. Only take the fights that you are absolutely sure you can win decisively.

If a Hive wins a fight, their losses are effectively zero, they just reassimilate all the dead and they come back stronger since they are bolstered by their fallen foes.

Somehow in the back of her mind, that old danger sense was screaming at her. She was flying awfully close to the sun and the worse part is she has no idea if her wings had already melted.

“The last time we fought a Hive we had someone on our side.” Asmodeus said and Lucifer shot him a deathly glare.

“Morningstar isn’t here to save us now…” Beelzebub muttered.

“We will handle it on our own, and I hope we all agree to cooperate on this threat,” Lucifer said, and he received this strained silence in response.

“Convenient that you are asking for it now that the Hive is smashing into your territory.” Satan replied and Lucifer shot him a glare.

“If the Hive devours all my troops they will come for you next. They will come stronger and far more eager.” Lucifer retorted.

“Say we do help you, the ones who are weakened the most will be pounced on by the rest and risk losing everything.” Asmodeus added.

“Why do you think I’m barricading myself into my territory.” Beelzebub muttered in response.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes as he examined the room. He smelled a plot and if it was what he thought it was, it was by far the stupidest gamble possible.

Beelzebub’s attitude had not gone unnoticed. Lucifer, sharp-eyed and attuned to the faintest hint of betrayal, observed her closely as the Hive tore through the land. It struck him how entirely prepared she seemed, how her forces pulled back with swift, exacting precision, as if anticipating each move. Where others struggled to rally forces and forge uneasy alliances to hold the Hive at bay, she stood apart, strangely unmoved by their desperate calls for unity. She hadn’t even feigned interest in joining the fight, a curious choice, considering the Hive’s relentless spread threatened them all. But Beelzebub had shown no surprise, no hesitation. Her borders were fortified, her legions arranged like pieces on a board she’d set long before the Hive emerged.

Lucifer felt a chill as he watched her, detached and calculating amid the rising chaos. She was too prepared, her defenses too perfectly timed, and her indifference too practiced. It was as though she had been waiting, knowing the Hive would strike, but never intending to face it directly. The others might believe she was simply protecting her own, but to Lucifer, it was something more a silent admission that she was two steps ahead, harboring knowledge none of them had. Watching her from his perch, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling that she had planned every step, her eyes fixed not on survival, but on what advantage she might seize when the Hive’s devastation had run its course. Of course there was also the fact that the mine’s explosion was far too convenient, a giant flaming blast perfect for removing any witnesess or evidence.

Lucifer’s attention shifted to Satan, Lord of Wrath. In the past, Satan had always been predictable, aggressive, and impulsive, a force of raw fury that tore through obstacles rather than outmanoeuvring them. But now, something had changed. His forces were no longer charging recklessly into battle or sprawling in chaotic formations. Instead, they moved with an eerie precision, stationed at choke points, critical pathways, and regions most vulnerable to the Hive’s spread. Each deployment seemed tactical and prophetic, as if Satan knew where the Hive would strike next. Gone was the wild abandon, the thunderous declarations; in its place was a chilling calm, a ruthless calculation that spoke of forethought rather than fury.

Lucifer couldn’t shake the suspicion that Satan knew more about the Hive than he let on. His forces were positioned almost too conveniently, like pieces on a board where he already knew the next moves. It was as if, in casting off his reckless ways, Satan had adopted a more insidious approach, one that could only come from a foreknowledge of the Hive’s patterns. He had arranged his armies not for battle against rival rulers, as they’d all assumed, but as if prepared to contain and control the Hive. Watching him, Lucifer began to wonder if the Lord of Wrath had grown wise enough or cunning enough to see an opportunity in the Hive’s chaos, using its devastation to fortify his own power and perhaps even undermine the other lords. For the first time.

A dark suspicion began to take root in Lucifer’s mind as he observed the uncanny synchronicity between Beelzebub’s fortified withdrawal and Satan’s strategic positioning. Both of them were behaving with a restraint and precision utterly unlike their former selves, as if they were no longer acting independently, but as two pieces of the same plan. Beelzebub’s refusal to ally openly, her quiet withdrawal into fortified positions, and Satan’s uncharacteristic patience in reinforcing vital choke points all of it hinted at a scheme too cohesive to be coincidence. Lucifer couldn’t ignore the possibility that they’d formed a secret alliance, a hidden pact to let the Hive wreak its devastation on the others while they positioned themselves to seize control once the dust settled. Or perhaps even worse, that one of them released the Hive knowingly, willing to burn it all to ash so they could rule the ashes.

The more Lucifer dwelled on the idea, the more sinister it seemed. If Satan and Beelzebub had indeed joined forces, they were playing a game more dangerous than Hell’s usual feuds. By keeping their alliance secret, they could manipulate the chaos to their advantage, each acting independently enough to avoid suspicion but moving with a deadly synchronicity to ensure the Hive struck hardest at their rivals. It would explain why Beelzebub seemed so unconcerned with the Hive’s threat and why Satan’s armies seemed so perfectly poised for containment rather than destruction. Together, they might wield the Hive like a weapon, an unstoppable force they’d unleash upon Hell until only their forces remained strong enough to rebuild from the ruin. Watching from his perch, Lucifer felt an unfamiliar chill, realizing that the true threat lay not in the Hive alone but in the silent, serpentine alliance it had brought to life.

Asmodeus, too, seemed to be playing a dangerous game, though his approach was markedly different from Satan and Beelzebub’s careful, calculated movements. The Lord of Lust had always thrived on manipulation and indulgence, and now, in the wake of the Hive’s awakening, he seemed unusually eager to form alliances, almost desperate to present himself as a willing partner in the fight against the swarms. His forces, though not as strategically positioned as Satan’s, were mobilizing with enthusiasm, almost too much enthusiasm, as though he were attempting to align himself with whoever would take him in, offering his troops and influence as if it were the key to saving Hell from the Hive’s wrath.

Yet, something about Asmodeus’s eagerness felt off to Lucifer, a scent of desperation beneath the surface charm. His willingness to forge alliances, to pledge his forces so openly, made Lucifer wary. It wasn’t like Asmodeus to play the part of the humble ally, and Lucifer couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to his actions than simple self-preservation. Was he trying to position himself as a leader in the new order that would rise from the Hive’s chaos? Or was it possible that Asmodeus, too, had a hidden agenda perhaps one that wasn’t just about survival but about using the Hive’s destruction as a stage for his own ambitions? In his eagerness, there was something hollow, a glimmer of something darker beneath his outward charm that only Lucifer could sense. Where Beelzebub and Satan were calculating, Asmodeus seemed to be grasping at the opportunity to forge alliances without truly considering the cost of what he might end up giving away in the process.

Lucifer’s mind raced as the pieces of a dark, intricate puzzle clicked into place. The Hive’s return, now felt like something far more sinister. It was clear to him now: the Hive was no longer just a threat it was the perfect smokescreen for a plot much darker. Beelzebub’s unnerving calm, Satan’s calculated troop movements, and Asmodeus’s eagerness to form alliances all of it pointed to a single, terrifying possibility: the freeing of Magne Morningstar.

Magne Morningstar had once stood above all the Lords as the Prime Evil, the true and undivided ruler of Hell. Her power eclipsed even the might of the Seven Lords, and it was she who had once defeated the Hive’s predecessors in an ancient war, securing Hell’s dominance over this plain of existence. But her reign had come to a brutal end. The other Lords uniting in a rebellion had imprisoned her deep within am unbreakable prison, locking her away with seven enchanted keys, each held by one of the Lords. The keys were bound to them, their essence entwined with their dominions, and only by combining all seven could she be freed. In their haste to secure their own power, they had sealed away the one being who had truly ruled Hell, the Prime Evil.

Now, Lucifer realized, perhaps the Hive was the perfect cover for an insidious plot. Perhaps Beelzebub, Satan, and Asmodeus weren’t preparing to survive the Hive; they might be preparing to free Magne Morningstar. Beelzebub’s careful detachment, her readiness when the Hive struck, now made sense. She had known the Hive would drive the Lords to panic, each scrambling to protect their realm from the swarming threat. In that chaos, the Lords would be persuaded to give up their keys, thinking it was the only way to ensure Hell’s survival. Beelzebub had patiently waited for this moment, understanding that the return of the Hive would manipulate the others into setting Morningstar free.

Satan’s true goal was not to stop the Hive, but to position himself as an ally to the Prime Evil, hoping to share in the power Magne would once again command. Asmodeus’s eagerness to form alliances only deepened Lucifer’s suspicions. His willingness to offer his forces to the other Lords, to align himself with whatever faction seemed most advantageous, wasn’t out of loyalty; it was a move to ensure his own survival and leverage once Magne was freed from her prison.

The Hive’s return was merely a distraction a means to force the Seven Lords into a frenzy of survival, convincing each of them that their only hope of saving Hell was to surrender their key. But what they didn’t realize was that in her freedom, she would not only reclaim her title as the Prime Evil but would crush all who had betrayed her. Hell’s balance of power would shift once more, and this time, the Lords who had betrayed her would find themselves beneath her heel.

Lucifer was all too familiar with Magne Morningstar’s vengeful nature, having served closely under her during her reign as the Prime Evil. He had witnessed her wrath firsthand, and it was a force unlike any other in Hell. Her vengeance was not a mere reaction it was a calculated, relentless pursuit of those who dared to cross her. It was said that when she was wronged, entire legions would be wiped from existence in the blink of an eye, entire realms reduced to rubble beneath her fury. Unlike the other Lords, who sought power for the sake of dominion, Morninstar’s wrath was personal, driven by betrayal and pride. She did not simply punish her enemies she obliterated them, leaving no trace of their existence. Lucifer had been there when she exacted retribution on those who plotted against her, a chilling reminder of the price of defying her.

It was because of this close proximity to her power that Lucifer understood the true magnitude of the danger now facing the Seven Lords. If Magne were freed, her thirst for revenge would know no bounds, and Lucifer knew that none of them would escape unscathed. She had once crushed those who had betrayed her without mercy, and if the Seven Lords were foolish enough to set her free, they would soon learn the price of their own treachery.

Magne Morningstar had always been a loyalist to the Firstborn, the ancient and cruel gods who had once ruled the realms before the current order of Hell. She had served them unflinchingly, carrying out their merciless will across worlds. The Firstborn’s influence had shaped her in ways few could comprehend they were gods of unimaginable power and cruelty, beings whose very existence was a testament to destruction and domination. Under their reign, entire realms had been wiped from existence, and civilizations were extinguished with a mere thought. Magne had been their favored servant, an extension of their malice, executing their will without question, and in her unyielding loyalty, she had hoped to one day see their return.

It was this very loyalty that led to her downfall. The Seven Lords, once allies in the shared pursuit of power, grew fearful of Magne's ambitions. They suspected that she had not only kept her loyalty to the Firstborn alive but was actively searching for ways to bring them back and restore the primordial gods to their rightful place. Her obsession with their return, with resurrecting the old order, became a threat they could no longer ignore. Fearing that she would bring ruin to the delicate balance of power in Hell by resurrecting beings that were far more ruthless than any of them, the Lords united against her, accusing her of treason. This betrayal led to her imprisonment, with the Seven Lords using the keys to lock her away, believing they had sealed her ambition and the potential return of the Firstborn forever.

Morningstar would most definitely enact some brand of terrible revenge and then proceed to wreak havoc on those who fought against the Firstborn. There was the suspicion that she was aiding some rebel Watchers in some long term to plan to preserve the Firstborn. From what threat he did not know but the suspicions grew too great and in fear they imprisoned her.

Morningstar cannot be free, or Lucifer himself would be flayed alive.

It was then that Beelzebub spoke and her words grated against his mind like sandpaper.

It seems things aren’t nearly bad enough out there for us to reach an agreement…

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