BY RUIN REDEEMED 3 by Dragon Cobolt

Feature Writer: DragonCobolt

Feature Title: BY RUIN REDEEMED 3

Published: 22.08.2024

Story Codes: Demonic

Synopsis: Cae sets about determining the state of the Realm of Ruin.

By Ruin Redeemed 3

Cae knew the secret many angels and mortals who wrote the annals of military history did not: The true decisions that won and lost battles were not made in the heat of the moment, with the furious swinging of swords, the clattering of shields, and the sundering of spears by mighty blows. They were not split second orders bellowed at men and women soaking in sweat and slipping in the blood of their enemies. They weren’t even cunning strategies, dreamed up in the gathering heat of the early dawn while watching enemy formations unfold in the muttered words of dusty scouts, fresh off the field.

No, they were duller, simpler, more complex things – decisions made about which weapons to bring, how to train what men and women, and how those men and women were moved across the landscape, or the Realms themselves. They were logistic decisions, not the decisions of sergeants. An ancient mortal conqueror had said that men’s stomachs were also their feet, and he was far from wrong. Even without the constraints of mortal armies, Heaven had needed to consider the logistical issues more carefully if they were going to succeed in their campaigns against Hell.

Cae remembered that.

She also remembered the horrible feeling of being pulled down by creeping vines when she had tried to implement this obvious fact with the other Generals and her army. She could still remember the blank looks from her fellow commanders, the boistrious assurance that she was thinking too much like a mortal. They were the angelic Hosts of Heaven, with sinews of gold and fire, they didn’t need to trifle with making sure they had enough people in the right place, at the right time, with the right equipment.

Cae remembered that horrible feeling right now, looking at the paperwork that she had asked for. The three Barons of Ruin all looked at her with a mixed expression – Ruti looked somewhat chagrined, and Degi didn’t want to meet her eyes. Citri was looking like he was flickering between apologetic and annoyed at being judged. Cae slowly sat her golden rump down on a large mahogany chair in the office that she had been given, and picked up the old, crumpled pieces of parchment. Scrawling lists of demonic names, jotted in a hurry, a few invoices that appeared to list out soul transfers, and a letter or two to something called a ‘demonhost’, signed by one ‘Purthi’, were all that she could see. She picked one such letter up, then sighed, letting it fall between her fingers as her wings mantled and rubbed against the back of the chair.

“Who is Purthi?” She asked, frowning.

“The Baron of Pillage,” Degi said, his voice serious. “He was…sundered from us by Destruction and now serves as their general.”

Cae frowned and slouched and for a moment considered simply giving up this whole idea as impossible. She closed her eyes and did as she had whenever a problem had seemed insurmountable – as many problems did when you stood at their foot. She counted back to ten, and began with the beginning. All stories had too.

“All right,” she said. “How are your forces normally organized.”

“Well, normally, we would ask Purry to do it,” Citri said.

“Citri,” Degi said, his voice warning. Citri sighed and slid his hands into the pockets of his red leggings, as he was wont to do.

“Demons, uh…hurm. In Hell, in the Hell Realms that is, Demons aren’t quite the same as they are in the mortal Realms. Demons are…are…defiance.” Citri said, cocking his head to the side as he tried to explain what was clearly second nature to him. “Heaven has rules. We don’t. But when you have no rules to follow, defying means very little – we’re…reduced. It is only when we’re in the mortal realms that we multiply and are Legion. So, uh, usually Purry would begin by rousting up a few hundred, maybe a thousand from our outlying fiefdoms, organize them under a banner-”

Cae jerked her head up. “What?” she asked, her voice flat.

“A few thousand,” Citri said, scowling. “They’re still demons.”

“I’ve obliterated millions of demons,” Cae said, standing and planting her palms on the desk. “And you tell me that if I had just reached the Hell realms, that your numbers would have been cut by a factor of…” She did some hasty math. “A thousand!?”

“No, no, no, no,” Citri said, shaking his head.

“Why not?” Cae asked.

“Because then there’d be rules to break,” Degi said, sighing.

“So, if I impose some sense of order on, on, on…on this?” Cae snatched up some of the papers and waved them around – the crumpling parchment feeling not nearly as satisfying as wringing some demonic necks at this moment might have. “Then we’ll get a million demons overnight?”

“No,” Citri said.

“Yes,” Degi said.

“M-Ma…ma…maybe!” Ruti said.

Cae frowned. “We’re in truly uncharted waters then,” she said, rubbing her temple and then sitting back down in the chair with a creak. She tapped her fingers. “I guess we’ll need to begin by doing the wingwork ourselves.” She frowned. “This will give Destruction time to fortify the regions captured – I am assuming, of course, that they function much as neighborhoods in Heaven. Souls that fit the criteria are raptured to them and there, they are tended to by some animated spirit who ensures their health and happiness and, thus, allowing their energies to flow into the center of the Realm?”

“Yes,” Citri said.

“No,” Degi said.

“K-Ki…Kin…Kind…kind…kind…” Ruti stammered, blushing as he got caught on the last syllable.

Cae frowned. “As advisors go, you three are doing better as a comedy troupe,” she said, her voice short and harsh. To her irritation, Citri returned a playful smile, as if she had been joking – and his eyes sparkled so delightfully that it became almost a joke in her mind. She shook her head and focused. “Explain the differences.”

“Souls in Hell do as they will,” Degi said, firmly. “They don’t need shepherding by some kind of maidservant – instead, we allow them to fulfill themselves against the perils of the new world they find themselves in.”

“The Heaven’s Keepers aren’t maidservants,” Cae said, scowling. “They simply use a fraction of Heaven’s energy to produce ephemeral seemings of whatever is wished, so the souls are happy.”

“Oh I’m sure that’s very entertaining,” Degi said, rolling his eyes – an impressive trick for someone with the faceted eyes of an insect. “For the first several days. After that, it would become quite dull.”

Cae opened her mouth, then closed it. “I’ve…never asked.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I…now realize I should have. I’ve read so many books and tomes, many written by mortal generals, but we had several of the finest generals raptured to heaven. And I never considered just speaking to them.” She blushed. That was a lie. Half a lie. But the truth made her feel even more low: She had considered, she had dreamed of it, and she had thought of her mentors, of the Proctors, of the rules of law, and she had thought of the whippings and the chains. But now her mind was riven with the dream she had had – the sending she almost wished it was – and of the change that perspective could make. It could turn humiliating punishment into the sweetest reward. She frowned. That thought felt weighty. Like there was heft to it.

She put it aside, for later.

“How many of these soul villages do we have in the Realm of Ruin?” she asked.

“Twelve,” Citri said.

“Eleven,” Degi said.

“E-Eleven and a half,” Ruti added. “Remember, one of them s-split recently. So, it’s not quite a full village.”

Cae nodded slowly. “Each one contains how many souls?”

“A…enough,” Citri said, frowning at her. “You can’t just measure a soul and know exactly how much energy it provides!”

“Of course you can!” Cae exploded. “That’s the basic function of Heaven – to measure! To weigh! To find souls wanting or in excess of their need. That’s how this works, this is how we can win. We need to know what we can do, when we can do it, and how often.” She slapped her palms onto the desk, making an inkwell jump. “And we shall determine that first by touring not the armies, but your soul villages. I can’t even begin to working on your military without knowing what logistics we’re working with.” She sighed, her breath fogging in the air in irritation. “Which of you wishes to escort me?”

“Send Ruti,” Citri said, immediately. “The mortal souls like him.”

“They…” Cae stopped herself before saying the unreasonably rude first thing that came to mind: They do? Ruti smiled, shyly. He was actually dressed somewhat more than he had in their first meeting: A tunic that hung wide over his grayhound thin belly, leggings that plumped up his narrow hips. Now, the clothing did appear to be slightly mildewing, but he was still more put together than he had been before. Ruti’s smile grew a little playful – a spark in his eyes she was more accustomed to seeing in Citri’s eyes appearing there.

“T-They…l…li…like mushrooms,” he said, looking down at his feet. He was trying to hide his pride, she realized – pride in what he cultivated in his domain of rot and putrescence. Cae was herself not sure how anyone could like a mushroom – even the most palatable had always struck her as being something like biting into a piece of decayed, rubbery snot. She did not let such thought cross her mind for more than a moment as she stepped around the table, her wings flaring wide.

“Can you fly?” she asked.

“N-No,” he said, shaking his head.

Cae nodded, then swung one arm underneath his legs. Hefting him was as easy as picking up a mortal – he was so slight and slender. His body blazed with the heat of decay and he cried out in surprise as she cradled him against her chest. His head nearly rested against her breast before he jerked his chin away, despite the fact that thick, runecarved golden armor separated cheek and flesh. His black skin fared red and when Cae turned to the window, she saw that Degi was shaking his head and smiling ever so slightly. Citri, though, was grinning broadly. His voice was amused as he swung the window open.

“You two have fun,” he said.

“We’re going on a logistics information gathering mission, not a play date,” Cae said, her voice full of as much dignity as she could make it. Despite that, she admitted to herself, deep within her breast, that she was quivering with the excitement at the idea of getting to stretch her wings. She had not flown in only a few days and it already felt like an eternity. Merely not being allowed made it seem as if she had her wings cut off, not merely restrained and pinned. She stepped onto the sill, crouching down low and folding herself around the Baron of Rot. Then she leaped and her wings flared wide and she beat them once, soaring up into the air with a whistle of wind around herself. She corkscrewed around and around, clinging Ruti to herself as he cried out in what might have been shock, fear, or the same raw, burning joy she felt. Her wings spread and caught the air, holding her in place with a pale blue glow. She took in the Realm of Ruin, her smile fading slightly.

“You know, I always expected it to be more…unusual,” she said, quietly.

“W-Wel…e…we…uh…it is?” Ruti stammered.

“It is?” Cae asked. “It looks like a mortal manorhouse – other than the color, that is grass, trees…”

“T-Th…th…tha…that is unusual for H…He…Hell…” Ruti forced the words out. His cheeks heated. He turned his head aside. “S-Sorry.”

Cae smiled slightly. “It’s quite all right. Not everyone has the same ability – or means – of speaking. Everyone has a place in the Creator’s plans.” Her wings spread and she allowed herself to glide at a gentle pace, not wanting to wick away Ruti’s words in the screaming wind. He had his eyes screwed shut, afraid to look down, and his body cuddled against her with yet more terror. Cae smiled gently, adjusting her grip to hold him more securely. This subtle adjustment still produced from him a short, stifled cry of terror. Cae sighed. “I will not drop you, Baron Ruti. You have my word, as an angel.”

He nodded, then tried through slow, aching steps, to begin to relax. As he did so, she took advantage of the fact his eyes were closed to once more look into his features. In the dim, rain streaked light of her first meeting, the main thing she had noticed was how very thin he was – and that thinness remained pronounced on razor sharp cheeks, narrow lips. Even his eyes had a narrowness to them, screwed shut as they were. But still, his bedraggled hair and his glossy black skin lent to his skeletal thinness a softer edge than she would have expected, rounding off what might have been cuttingly, imposingly beautiful into something more approachable and tender. And that soft voice of his – he had a kind of sweetness in him, she could sense it. But he was a Baron. A Demon. A lord of rot and putrescence.

She had no idea what to make of him.

“Have you ever sought teachers, to help your stutter?” she asked.

“N-No,” he said, quietly. And…a curious thing happened. While he did still stutter, while his words remained hesitant and sometimes, took many tries to bring forth, Cae found herself hearing only his voice. It was as if her mind had grown used to his way of speaking, and she could simply be patient and wait. It wasn’t as if she was in a particular hurry for each sentence, as a mortal might be. “The stutter isn’t because of me. It’s not…I’m not…it is hard to explain.” He chuckled and smiled at her. She smiled back.

“Demons seem to find it hard to explain many things,” Cae said, quietly. “We angels can tell you how each of us work, to the tiniest detail.”

He nodded, mutely.

Cae pursed her lips, then shaped her wings to a falcon’s stoop. She dropped towards the buildings she saw – and as she came close, she saw she had not been mistaken. The soul village was, like many mortal homes, built from local materials and shaped by hands that would age and die. But here, the local materials were fungal growths, hollowed out mushrooms the size of large boulders, and the shells of some vast insects. As slowly and subtly as a desert turning to prairie to grassland to forest to the deepest jungle, the ruin beneath her had shifted from brownish forests and grasses to a kind of moribund bog. When she landed in the heart of the village, she drew cries of shock and alarm from the mortal souls that had been taken by corruption. Several screamed and ran for cover. Others rushed not to their homes but to a large mushroom that her sharp eyes spotted was the armory – for the door was open and crude crossbows made of shaped wood and carapace had been racked within.

“Be not afraid,” Cae said, setting Ruti down.

“Oh, it’s old Rue!” One of the mortals said. Walking forward, Cae had to take a blink and a second look – for this mortal was so corrupted that she seemed almost more demonic than Laeushale. Her skin was purple and spotted with black dots, while her eyes were black on purple, slitted like a goat. Her feet were cloven hooves, and her head was horned. She was taller, too, than any mortal should be, looming above Cae with the spindle-build of some sallow flower growing in the deep marsh. She also had a wickedly sharp carving knife hanging from the sarong that was her only article of clothing – her breasts were bared, dark purple nipples prominent by their silver piercings. Cae’s eyes widened at that, but she focused instead upon her face as the mortal frowned at her.

“Did you steal Rue?” she asked, angrily. “Snatch him from the Manor?”

“No!” Cae exclaimed. “I’m Caelael Silverhawk – General of…of the House of Ruin.” She squared her shoulders. “For the time, at the very least.”

The mortal looked from Cae to Ruti. “Is this the truth, Baron Ruti?” she asked.

Ruti nodded and stammered out: “Yes. We rescued her from Destruction – she’s working with us.”

Once he was finished, the mortal sighed quietly. “Well, that’s something. We’ve heard Destruction has attacked Tickburrow and Tailrot on the northern edge of these swamps. We don’t want it to be true, but…” She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Such is the way of things in Hell.”

“I am here to see how our logistics are doing,” Cae said, sighing. “Your community, it provides soul energy from Lord Arral, you understand this yes?” The mortal snorted, rolled those exotic, strange eyes of hers, and nodded. Cae pursed her lips but continued without rising to the bait. “We need to know how much and how often.”

“How would we even figure that out?” The mortal snapped.

“By…I…do you have a…” Cae caught herself. No, they wouldn’t have aetherscope, or any of the other devices that Heaven had fashioned over ten thousand years to aid in efficiency. She rubbed her chin, then snapped her fingers. “I wish you to strike me as hard as you can.”

The mortal blinked, slowly. The other villagers who had gathered all exchanged glances.

“In your armor? With your sword?” the mortal asked, slowly. “So you can split me in half?”

Cae sighed. Her hand gestured to her golden armor, to the curve of her chest-piece, to the runes that carved over her gilded armor. “This armor is warded. I am no arcane smith, but I do know a little something about registering the amount of energy released by a blow. The light flash will at least give me some measurement – even imprecise, it is better than nothing!” She nodded. “Now, strike me.”

The mortal squared her shoulders. She clenched one purple hand, then drew her fist back. She glowered at Cae, as if she was trying to find within her breast a roaring flame of anger and hate. Once she had found it and balled it up into her fist, she threw her blow. It was a good blow, suited to a tavern brawler. Cae had to do everything in her power to keep herself from twisting so the blow would glance, or to avoid counter-attacking by instinctive reflex. The impact rang her like a bell, causing her to skid back an inch or two, but when she rocked back into place, she chuckled quietly. “Nice hit!” she said, rubbing the armor plating. “I almost felt it – most of the blow is redirected around me by the armor, not to my flesh.” She frowned. “I’d rate that as five, six motes worth. Not bad.”

“…thanks?” the mortal sounded as if she was not sure if she had been insulted. She frowned down at Cae. “Is that not bad for a mortal, or not bad for a corrupted, sinful bitch like me?”

“Not bad for a mortal,” Cae said, blushing ever so slightly, silver flickering along her bright golden cheeks. “It’s long been determined in Heaven that…well, Corruption and Glory are themselves not, ahem, too different. It’s merely a polarity of how the power is flowing – upwards, or downwards.”

The woman snorted. Loudly. “Likely tell. For me? Purity, glory, meant not laying with my woman, of making babies for some fat fuck king. Corruption? It was the only way I could truly live, and I was burned for it.” Her voice was heated. A few angry glowers came from around Cae, who felt an unsettled tremble in her belly. She lifted her gauntlets, shaking her head firmly.

“T-That’s not…purity is not so simple!” she exclaimed, her voice showing an edge as she felt their ire weighing upon her. “Such kings, such cruelties, are not what Heavens wishes. We do not Rapture communities that hew to such practices – but many mortals do not know Heaven’s light by anything more than faint memories, or mad prophets that touch and do not understand. We have an entire division of Angels, the Cherubs, who are messengers and travel to such Realms, to try and teach the lessons of true purity, of true goodness, to those madmen and despots…but…” She sighed, quietly. “Sadly, many a man given power by fervent hatred finds that power suits them better than honesty…”

The mortal woman who had been burned for laying with her fellow women frowned at her. “Oh, so that makes it all better?”

“Of course not,” Cae said, her eyes flashing. “The Hosts of Heaven…do you think we are not free of guilt? That we do not feel the weight of our failure, every day?” She scowled and took a step forward. “I am here because I failed – because I…” She cut herself off, then looked aside. “I am not here to apologize to you – nor are you here to accept it. I will protect you whether you heap hatred upon my name or not. I have learned enough, Ruti, are you ready to go?”

Ruti, his stammer even fiercer than normal, did not manage to even say ‘yes’ before Cae snatched him up and took to her wing, fleeing from the villagers and their glares. She soared, and felt no joy of it. Ruti clung to her, and his voice came to her ears, despite her speed.

“They were wrong, to blame you for what mortals do to one another.”

“No, they weren’t,” Cae said, quietly. “Heaven…we cannot claim to have a plan, to have a place, for everyone and everything and then hate the people we seek to help when our plan doesn’t move fast enough or far enough or wide enough.” She shook her head, her wings beating once more, then spreading wide to catch the air, to soar. “Angels are meant to be one way – to follow the strictures of the Creator, to lead mortals to purity. To hate them for our failure? For our weakness? That would truly make my wings blacken…” She shook her head again.

Ruti was silent for a time. Then, softer still. “You know I, um, I can travel without needing you to carry me. I may not be able to fly, but I can still do so.”

Cae chuckled. “Yes, but-”

She tensed. A shadow had fallen on her. She shifted her grip, holding Ruti with one arm, her other hand dropping to her hip. She spun and slashed at the same moment, her flaming sword blazing to life in a single moment of brilliant fury. The spear that fell towards her sundered in half with an explosion of sparks, splinters of wood, and a puffing hiss of molten metal as the sharpened tip met her sword and was found to be utterly, utterly lacking. She glowered up and saw her opposite number – a flying demon with the red skin of destruction and the blazing golden eyes of his hatred. He held a shield in one hand, and was drawing an arming sword with the other.

“Drop me!” Ruti exclaimed.

“No, I-” Cae started.

But no, he was no mere mortal, no shrinking violet. Cae still dove, dove towards the bog. She spread her wings, preparing to slow – and in that moment of deceleration, that hanging second, the flying demon dropped down and struck. His blade flashed out and she twisted, her massive shoulder pauldron spraying out sparks as his red arming sword glanced off it with a hissing tang of hellfire. The demon rebounded, flipped, landed in the bog, spreading his legs wide. He was a bestial thing, horned, with the head of an aurochs and the body of a muscular barbarian. He had an armored pauldron on his shoulder, hooked leather harnesses wrapped around his chest, and a plated skirt that flared wide around muscular hips. His nose snorted, disturbing the golden ring piercing his nostrils.

“So it’s true,” he rumbled. “The mortallover has got himself an gold bitch straight from Heaven.” He snorted again. “I’m going to enjoy murdering you – ripping you apart limb from limb.”

“Not the most inspired of threats, beast,” Cae said. “I’ve slaughtered thousands upon thousands of your kind.”

“Funny,” the demon said, low and chuckling. “That was what I was going to say. I am the Baron of Murder…” His grin was wicked. “Balati.”

“A baron…doing his own reconnaissance?” Cae asked. Her heavy boots shifted in the thick mud – it clung to her feet, slurping and gurgling. She ignored it. Her bodily strength was such that she could move through it as if it were mere silt or water. What worried her more were the iron hard, thick roots of the trees surrounding her. As water gurgled and sloshed around her, she felt its feted warmth creeping in through the tiniest of slits in her armor – sliding along her skin like fingers, seeking to corrupt her by its very touch. She ignored it, focusing not on Balati’s face…but on the gleaming red of his sword.

If he truly was the Baron of Murder…then he truly had slaughtered thousands of Angels in his day.

“A general doing a clerk’s job?” he shot back – then exploded into motion. He leaped from the water and towards her. His sword hazed in the air, drawing a horrid, interlocking series of sweeps with such speed that it was less a series of blows and more a single horrible wall of steel, arcing and slashing and cutting. Cae didn’t try and parry. She simply sprang backwards, beat her wings, and swept through the lower branches of several trees at once. The splinters cracked like the explosion of sunbombs, and when she landed, the hellfire blade that Balati had swung with such ferocious skill took its toll on half a dozen trees she had crossed near: Each tree, at the same moment, exploded into a haze of splinters and branches.

Cae lifted her arm to shield her face, her wings flapping to knock aside the worst of the hailstorm of bog-wood.

Balati took advantage of the moment to spring forward. He knocked her sword up, then thrust. His blade struck the thin point between pauldron and shoulder, finding a gap no wider than the hair of a human infant and, yet, somehow, it drove in. Chain grated and twisted, links bursting beneath the tip of that blade, and searing hellfire heat blazed against her skin, the chain links actually growing red hot within an instant and scorching Cae’s golden skin. She grabbed onto the blade with her gauntlet, snarling in fury.

“Little angel…little general,” Balati sneered, his nose whuffing the horrid stench of death and blood into her face. “You should have kept your bodyguard.”

Cae clenched her teeth. “You should read more books,” she panted, softly. “What happens to steel when it changes its temperature rapidly.”

Balati blinked.

“The same thing that happens to everything else,” Cae snarled. She clenched the gauntlet that was gripping his hellfire blade tightly and pushed every iota of her energy into her palm. She might not have learned the arts of healing, but combat magic? That was something she had learned, and learned…passably well. But one did not need to create a complex weaving of wind and waves to merely create cold – and this kind of contact allowed the cold to be transmitted nigh instantly. The hellfire winked out and the blade went from searing hot to horribly cold. Molten metal froze to her skin and her grip actually slipped a little as hoarfrost grew along the sword. Cae did not feel as the blade pierced her golden skin – her blood was too hot, her fury too immense.

Instead, she simply lifted her other arm and, using her own shoulder and his hilt as the two brace points, drove her elbow into the center of the frozen blade. Infernally forged steel might disobey the word of the Creator and bring death where only life should flower – but it couldn’t defy the full force of an enraged war angel. The blade shattered into an explosion of red particles and Balati stumbled backwards, his hilt hissing and smoking. He roared – for one of the razor sharp shards of his own blade had struck his eye, by sheerest mischance.

“You fucking angel bitch!” He shrieked. “You whore of heaven! You walking cunt! You-”

Cae stepped forward. Her arm might ache, her shoulder might throb, but she still was able to pivot on one foot, thrusting her heel so and drive her armored knuckle directly into the auroch jaw of the hateful Baron. His head snapped to the side with an explosion of black blood and bits of teeth. Her other hand lashed out as he stumbled backwards, arms flailing, and her fingers hooked upon the golden ring that pierced his nose. She wrenched forward, dragging his head down and thrusting her knee up. The two struck with a resounding crunch of cartilage and snapping bone. Cae roared in fury.

“You are the darkness! You are the blood stained knife! You are the night!” She took hold of his head with both hands and smashed him into the tree beside her. The wood crunched and splinters flew. “I am the fire! I am the fury! I am the coming of the dawn, hellbeast!”

Balati stumbled back to one knee. His head was a bloodied ruin and still he breathed, if only barely. He reached up, taking hold of the horrid chunk of metal within his bloodied and destroyed eye. His good eye, blood shot and furious, glowered at her as he tugged and tugged, wrenching the wounded chunk free. Gore splattered onto his face and he gurgled, his voice barely recognizable in the ruin that was his mouth and soft palette.

“You. Coming. For you.”

Cae drew her sword, smirking. “I’m sure you-”

His wings beat. He shot up into the air. Cae beat her wings – but only one moved. The other spasmed and she felt a moment of shocked betrayal, horror at the sensation of her own body stabbing her in the back like this. She fell to one knee, gasping, as the Baron of Murder fled into the heavens. He swept off and she realized that a great deal of bright red blood was pouring from the rent in her armor. Cae’s head spun and she whispered. “That’s not right,” she whispered. The blood was the red blood of a mortal – not the blood of an angel. She wondered at the curse that wreathed that hell forged sword…and realized…of course, the best way for a demon to slay an angel?

Prevent them from being an angel.

She panted, while Ruti’s voice cried out – and clear as day, he spoke without stammer or stutter.

“Cae!” He came to her side, his hand touching her arm. “You…you saw off the Baron of Murder? I called every soldier I have-”

Dizzy, her head lifted. She saw shapes in the murky bog. Formless things, emerging from the carcasses of trees. She smiled a bit dazedly. “Ah, you are a sweeting, Rue…don’t worry, I’m well. I’m well.” Her head hung forward, and she felt so very tired. Ruti cried out in fear, then began to shout orders as confidently as a general might. Abstractly, Cae knew she needed to cling to wakefulness, for this kind of slow bleeding could be her end. Were all mortal so fragile? No, no, of course. She was given the worst of both worlds at the moment – she did not have the swift sealing of her wounds, but she still had the extra arteries, bringing blood from her heart to her wings. Absurd place to put such a thing?

Hmm, she had blinked and was now laying back in a large chamber. A home. It was made of rot and decay and dying things – a large, hollowed out tree. Mushrooms grew around her, and her armor was being tugged aside. She sighed quietly, allowing the wound to be exposed. Then there was searing pain…and then a stillness that shook her to her core. She lapsed back to sleep, her head laying to the side.

She did not know if she would waken.

 

***

 

Cae’s eyes opened. Her body felt heavy, but she was not dead. She slowly sat up and sighed with relief as she saw she was still within the hollowed out tree. There was no light from beyond the walls – no sun shone through the hole in the walls of this trunk produced by branches falling in the long past days of the trees slow demise. Instead, the light came from mushrooms that grew along the inside of the tree, producing a queer bioluminescence that shone along her golden skin, giving herself a silky pallor. She lifted her hand, spreading her fingers, then looked down her arm, to her chest. Ah, the searing pain had been someone stopping the bleeding via the exposure of intense heat: She had a new scar, placed above and to the right of her breast. The thick knot of tissue was already healing, and every moment that passed made her feel stronger and sturdier.

“I’m an angel again, I think,” she said, a bit dazedly.

Rue made a soft groaning noise. Cae immediately felt great guilt gnawing at her – she had not seen him in the dimness, but there he was: stretched out on his side, his eyes closed. When he sat up, though, her eyes widened.

He was naked.

Quite naked.

Cae jerked her gaze away, but not before there was such…interesting, tempting views of his body, even so dimly lit. The shape of him was just so arresting that…she shook her head, and her cheeks flushed bright silver. “M-My apologies!” She stammered.

“W-What? Oh, no, it is mine!” he said, his voice showing the same stammer he normally did – even if she was now used to it. “I, oh damn, I…there’s a reason I wear so little, normally. The clothing, it rots.”

Cae nodded, her eyes still fixed upon some quite fascinating lichen. “I understand. Uh. Where are we?”

“My home,” he said. “Lord Arral has his home. As does Citri, and Degi. I live in the…marsh. Where things grow. Where there are no ruins, but instead, new growth.”

“…strange place for a Baron in the House of Ruin,” Cae said. Her eyes were tempted by the half-sights she had seen, the…momentary flashes. He was skeletally thin, and he had the ribs and belly of a grayhound. And yet, it looked right upon him, where it would be upsetting to see on a mortal. She wasn’t quite sure how to square that sense compared to her normal view of seeing men as hale and hearty as, say, the Proctor. Or Citri, for that matter. Was that part of why she wanted to look, to see? The…strangeness of it?

The wrongness of it?

What allure was there in rot?

Your fungal bed was quite warm and comfortable, a silly part of her mind murmured. Her hand went to the scar on her shoulder, then slid down. She wore only her tunic and her leggings. He must have removed her armor. She bit her lip, then stammered. “Why does Lord Arral have a human manor house?”

“Ruin is a very human purview,” Ruti said, in his slow, shy way. “You only have ruin if you have glory and splendor first. You only have glory and splendor if you have human ego, and human will. A mountain is a mountain is a mountain. It is only a glory when man sees it, when they witness it, when they name it. It only becomes a ruin when the Destroyer unmakes it, when it is smote by…meteorite. Or heavenly lance. Temples need to be built to fall to decay. Empires must be…forged…” He trailed off into silence. “That is why we are so like them. We need them, more than most. Destruction may lose Pillage and Murder, but Pestilence? Heh. Do you think the deer need not fear sickness? Age? Plague? No.”

He shook his head slowly. Cae was drawn back to him by his soft words, her head turning. She kept her gaze upon his razor sharp face. Her voice was soft too, as if afraid to…to…what? Be heard by lurking demons outside? Or maybe afraid to startle and scare this oddly gentle Baron – to reveal to him that he had revealed himself, to her. “And only humans can truly appreciate Rot, hmm?” Her lips quirked up as she searched everything she had ever read. “Cheese.”

“Wine,” Ruti said, quietly, his lips quirking up as well. He was not looking into her face. His finger had found a grubby worm in the rotting pile of corruption that he had lain in. His finger hefted it up and under his focused attention, the worm plumped, swelled, grew at…then seemed to dry and wither. “There are whole kinds of people who need to rot – who need to cast off their old lives, their old selves, to become…”

The dried, dead thing split. A gloriously bright butterfly emerged, wings iridescent and multi-hued. It flapped, then flew away, sweeping into the night of the hell-marsh beyond this quiet place of growth and healing.

Cae smiled, slightly. “It is what we hope for all mortals, you know?”

Rue lifted his gaze up to her. When did she begin thinking of him as Rue? Was it that moment?

“I thought everyone has a place in your plan,” he said.

“And we want them to grow to fill their places,” Cae said. She reached out, and her golden hand laid along his midnight black. Her cheeks heated and she squeezed him. It was…just the touch of a comrade, in the war against…against…Hell? He was of Hell, as much as the Baron of Murder. And what goodness could there be in that bestial, cruel thing? And yet…there were times and places where murder was…not so bad. How many tyrants needed the kiss of steel? …no. No! She jerked her hand back, fiercely, then snapped her gaze away. She tried to focus on what she was, on who she was. “W-We should, uh, get going. They’re probably worried about us.”

“Actually, Lord Arral bade us wait until Citri and his forces could arrive and escort us.” He blushed – an almost invisible darkening of black on black. Cae kept her gaze upon the exit of the home. “W-We can go back to sleep. They will be here when they return. ”

Cae nodded. “Yes. Of course.” She laid back against the wall, rather than in the thick mushrooms – she was too painfully aware of how connected they were to rot. To Rue. To him. To his body. Was laying in them like laying in his arms? That was…horrid. She didn’t wish that. Not in the slightest. She gulped, then looked away from Rue…from Ruti. From the Baron of Rot. From the demon. She sensed no hostility from him. Instead, he simply laid back and closed his eyes. He breathed out a long, slow sigh.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Hmm?” she asked.

“For driving off the Baron of Murder. For protecting us. For…for putting up with this.” his eyes were closing. Drooping. She had woken him after all. Cae fidgeted in her seat and then finally settled upon an answer.

“It is okay.”

He sighed.

Slowly, the sound of the Baron of Rot’s slumber came into the room – a soft, steady breathing. He did not snore. If she had not been so attuned to every shift of his body, every breath he took, every noise he made, she might have assumed he had slipped into death and the stillness of eternity. Cae closed her eyes – but as she leaned back against the wall, she felt only things keeping her roused, awake. She felt the ache of her healing wound. She felt the thrumming of blood in her veins. She felt the questions gnawing at her head. She opened her eyes to thin slits, and saw only the dim glow of the room and the shape of the Baron of Rot.

The tempting shape.

She chewed her lip, squirming in her seat.

She needed to rest. Creator above, her back was beginning to ache. She closed her eyes and forced herself to remain still. And yet, her thoughts swirled, probing at the mysteries that she had spied. The questions. What it might…

Hmm, she thought to herself. The more that I learn of the Barons, the better a report I can deliver when I return to Heaven.

That idea struck her as almost too perfect. Nearly an excuse, a bare excuse to just…indulge in her most base instincts. And so she harrowed herself over it, her back growing more and more discomforted as she crossed her arms over her chest. Finally, she snapped – her eyes opened and she scowled at the Baron of Rot’s body as he lay upon his back. She shifted up onto the balls of her feet, then onto her palms. She moved with inching, careful slowness and each tiny movement she made made her heart burst and leap into her throat, worried that at any second, the Baron would waken from his sleep…but he seemed to sleep the deepest sleep she had ever seen in her life.

She started at his chest. He was not as muscled as Citri, no. But there was a delicacy to his skin and to the sweep of his almost emaciated belly. Her eyes drifted down yet further. There it was. His manhood.

It was…

Big.

C-Creator’s Throne, she thought, the only two words that could quite encompass his sheer size. His ebony black shaft also was not the shaft of a mortal. He had the flat head of an equine, complete with a kind of ridge of flesh at the midway point that…that…she shook her head slightly. What could arouse him so much in his sleep that he would be so massively hard? Though, she had always heard that male’s jutted when they were hard. She bit her lower lip, her eyes dipping down to his heavy ebony black balls. Then…she heard his sigh.