Daemon Sinners vs Gustav(4)

The thunder of hooves against cobblestone cut through the evening air like a battle cry, accompanied by the deep voices of men shouting orders and the harsh neighing of warhorses.

Gustav's foot, poised mere inches above Daemon's chest, froze mid-descent as the demon's golden eyes flickered toward the sound.

A grimace twisted Gustav's features, his lips curling back to reveal those predatory teeth.

"Well, isn't this just perfect," he muttered, his voice dripping with irritation. "Some cowardly villager must have slipped away to fetch the local garrison. No matter. I'll slaughter every last one of them along with the rest of this pathetic settlement."

The demon stepped back from Daemon's prone form, his bloodied feet leaving dark prints on the cobblestones as he turned to face the approaching cavalry.

Through the narrow streets that fed into the marketplace came a column of blue-armored soldiers, their lances gleaming in the dying light.

Each man sat astride a powerful destrier, the warhorses' breath forming clouds in the cold air as they moved with practiced precision.

Twenty men in total, Daemon counted through his pain-hazed vision.

Their blue armor was identical to what Fuan Yi had worn, bearing the same silver wolf's head emblem of Guass. But these were no ordinary guards, their bearing spoke of seasoned warriors, men who had faced death and emerged victorious.

The lances they held were held with the casual confidence of those who knew how to use them, and their horses moved in perfect formation despite the chaos that surrounded them.

At the head of the column rode a man whose mount towered over the others, a massive black destrier with intelligent eyes and scars along its flanks that spoke of countless battles.

The rider himself cut an imposing figure, broader in the shoulders than his men, with a red feather adorning his helmet that marked him as their leader.

His armor bore additional markings, subtle differences that proclaimed his rank to those who knew how to read them.

The leader raised his left hand in a sharp gesture, and the entire column came to an immediate halt.

The discipline was impressive. Twenty warhorses stopping as one, their riders maintaining perfect formation despite the carnage that greeted them.

Steam rose from the animals' flanks as they stood motionless, their ears pricked forward and nostrils flaring as they scented blood and death.

For a long moment, the commander studied the scene before him with the calculating gaze of a veteran soldier.

His eyes took in the destroyed buildings, the scattered debris, the pool of blood and twisted metal that had once been Fuan Yi.

They lingered on Daemon's battered form lying among the broken cobblestones, then moved to Gustav, who stood with casual indifference amid the devastation he had wrought.

The commander's gauntleted hands moved to his helmet, lifting it free to reveal a face that had seen perhaps fifty winters.

His hair was a shaggy mane of blonde gone grey at the temples, falling to his shoulders in the old Nordic fashion.

A thin beard framed his weathered features, and his blue eyes held the hard gleam of a man who had survived more battles than he cared to count.

Lines etched around those eyes spoke of years spent squinting into sun and snow, while the set of his jaw suggested a will that had been tempered in the forge of war.

"I am Magnus Ragnasson," the man announced, his voice carrying the authority of one accustomed to being obeyed. "Commander of the Third Cavalry of Guass. Identify yourself, demon."

Gustav's response was to remove his foot entirely from above Daemon's chest, taking a single step forward with the fluid grace of a predator.

Several of the mounted soldiers shifted nervously in their saddles, their horses sensing their riders' unease and stamping restlessly.

The sound of metal on metal rang out as hands moved instinctively to lance grips.

"Hold!" Magnus barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Do not advance any further."

Gustav paused, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

With theatrical flourish, he placed one hand over his heart and bowed his head in a mockery of courtly manners. "Gustav Hangreion, at your service," he said, his voice carrying that same lazy quality despite the violence that surrounded them. "Though I suspect the service I offer isn't quite what you're looking for."

One of the soldiers, a young man barely out of his teens, spat into the dirt. "Fucking demons," he muttered, his voice thick with disgust and fear.

Magnus's weathered face remained impassive, though his grip on his lance tightened almost imperceptibly. "Leave now, demon, and this entire matter will be forgotten by both sides. You have my word as a soldier of Guass."

From where he lay on the blood-slicked cobblestones, Daemon felt a surge of fury course through his battered body. Here was a trained warrior, a commander of men, and he was backing down from a single demon? The cowardice of it made his stomach turn, even as his rational mind recognized the wisdom in avoiding a fight they couldn't win.

Gustav's reaction was immediate and explosive.

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing off the surrounding buildings like the caw of some carrion bird.

The demon leaned against a broken market stall's support pole, clutching his stomach as waves of mirth shook his frame.

"Oh, that's rich," Gustav gasped between bouts of laughter. "You want me to just... walk away? After all this?" He gestured expansively at the destruction around them, his pink hair catching the last rays of sunlight. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Commander. You see, I have certain obligations."

The demon's laughter died abruptly, his golden eyes hardening to chips of amber ice. "I'm currently fleeing from some rather powerful individuals who would be most displeased if word of my presence here were to spread. Which means, unfortunately for you and your men, I'm going to have to kill every last one of you."

Gustav pushed himself away from the pole, rolling his shoulders with casual indifference.

"Then I'll finish off the persistent fool behind me," he continued, glancing back at Daemon with mild irritation. "After that, it's a simple matter of slaughtering the entire village population to ensure no one knows who was responsible for this little affair."

The demon's smile was all teeth and malice. "I hardly think the Demon Monarch of the Ninth Circle would concern himself with the massacre of some obscure village in the backwaters of his territory. Do you?"

The mention of the Ninth Circle Monarch sent a visible shudder through the mounted soldiers. Even Magnus's composed expression faltered slightly, though he quickly regained his composure.

The hierarchy of Hell was not something to be taken lightly, and the Monarch represented power beyond mortal comprehension.

Magnus's knuckles whitened around his lance shaft, but his voice remained steady. "Stand down, demon. We won't hesitate to engage you if you continue to threaten innocent lives."

Gustav cracked his knuckles with deliberate slowness, each pop echoing in the sudden silence. "Oh, please don't worry yourselves too much about it," he said conversationally. "I'll try to make it quick. Though I can't entirely guarantee that—sometimes these things get a bit... messy."

The casual nature of the threat was somehow more unsettling than any display of rage would have been.

This was a creature that spoke of mass murder with the same tone one might use to discuss the weather.

One of the younger soldiers, his face flushed with anger and fear, couldn't contain himself any longer. "You bastard!" he snarled, spurring his horse forward. "I'll show you what happens when you threaten innocent people!"

The young cavalryman leaped from his saddle with reckless courage, his lance drawn back for a devastating thrust.

His battle cry echoed across the marketplace as he charged toward Gustav, his weapon aimed directly at the demon's heart.

Gustav didn't even seem to move.

One moment the soldier was in mid-charge, his lance gleaming in the dying light. The next, his headless body was toppling forward, crimson fountaining from the stump of his neck.

His head rolled to a stop several yards away, his expression frozen in a mask of determination and surprise.

The young man's horse reared in terror, its hooves pawing the air as it smelled the blood of its fallen rider.

The animal's screams mixed with the horrified gasps of the remaining soldiers, several of whom struggled to control their mounts as the horses sensed death and wanted nothing more than to flee.

One of the cavalrymen, a grizzled veteran with grey streaks in his beard, leaned over his horse's neck and vomited onto the cobblestones.

The sound was wet and harsh, a visceral reaction to the casual brutality they had just witnessed.

"Sweet merciful gods," another soldier whispered, his voice barely audible above the snorting of frightened horses.

Gustav examined his fingernails with the air of someone who had just swatted a particularly annoying fly. "Now then," he said pleasantly, "who's next?"