The Demon Lord Is An Angel
Chapter 381: Interlude - War’s Eve

Chapter 381: Interlude - War’s Eve

General Rael was in a good mood when she entered her war tent.

She was where she belonged, out in the field putting down Heaven’s enemies, without House Victoriam in her way as they had been since the last Heavenswar.

Years of putting up with the Son of Heaven’s attempts to play general behind his father had almost soured her on her prospects. Now that Vinam was relegated to the Executioners, she could advance House Bellumos as the head of the Host. And with Arritel dead, perhaps she would cement her position enough to wrest the foretelling breeders from House Victoriam... though from what she knew of recent history, the line had grown entirely too thin.

Without the Daughter of Heaven, sure outcomes could not be foretold, and so Heaven - to Rael’s mind - had spent the last twenty years flailing around with the useless Vinam at the helm. His ability to see the past through objects did not translate to anything needed to wage Heaven’s wars.

As she cast about her tent, she honed in on one luxury that she enjoyed about Ayther, tilting her cup under the barrel and opening the tap so that the golden-brown ale of the ginger root could pour into it.

She was about to take her first sweet sip when a clerk barged into her tent, an angel with unkempt wings and eyes exhausted from sleepless nights.

"I am off duty, Lieutenant" Rael intoned. "This had better be important for Colonel Bruniel to have sent you to me."

"Quite important, General. We have a request from Ambassador Tarantel for a general redeployment. He claims to have spotted identified a metatron, at the head of an army... a new Duke."

"Pah. The Executioners and their ’metatron’ fearmongering. What’s this one the Duke of? Annoyance?" Metatron were only feared because the most forbidden sections of Heaven’s foundations and the Akash Network claimed the need for "Metatron Access Authority". Millenia since they last posed any threat, no angel had managed to breach any of these places - informational or otherwise - and so the name was just a ghost story from the past.

The messenger gave only a weak nod to Rael’s joke. "By the Ambassador’s account... Pride."

Rael felt shock tingle down her spine. "There is a new Satanos? Has this been confirmed?"

"If he has, we don’t exactly have the means to confirm it. By last reports, he’d invaded Nyandor and then headed north. And as this horde of demons was tracked coming from the north... it’s possible."

Rael, like most of Heaven, hadn’t given a gnat’s worth of care to the fate of the beastfolk nation. They were, in common parlance amongst the Elevated, "non-convertibles," and thus a lower priority when it came to whom Heaven would save, especially with the majority of convertible myriadfolk living on the continent of Retha.

"Hmph. How big a horde?" She asked the question mostly to give herself time to think.

"Perhaps two hundred thousand. Give or take."

Two legions - ten thousand angels - from the Host were stationed in Tarantel’s domain - whatever it was called - as an assignment that would allow some rest. Guarding slaves delivered by Heaven’s allies was barely important to the war effort, no matter what Vinam claimed. The other half of the Host was occupying Hell, in little bubbles of habitability wrested from those demons who had remained.

And with Heaven’s diplomatic corps was largely in bed with the Executioners, responding to Tarantel’s request could be taken as following Vinam’s will...

If she was going to find a way to turn the event in her favor, she needed time and information.

"Have this message sent to Tarantel: ’We have received your request and will deploy aid when it is more feasible. The situation in Retha is far more pressing at this time, so ask again in... two weeks. Regards. Titles, titles. You know the rest.’"

"Yes ma’am," the Lieutenant replied. "I’ll inform Colonel Bruniel right away. Thank you for your time." She saluted, fist over heart, waiting for Rael to do the same.

The Lieutenant had a look on her face that spoke of long days to come. It was good to see such effort from the youth, but Rael could tell she was reaching her limit. "Get some rest once you’re done delivering my response. Visit your lover. Try some of the local food," she gestured at the mug in her grip.

"I’m not really much of an eater..." the Lieutenant replied. "And I left my lover back in Heaven."

"You’re dismissed," Rael shook her head. As soon as the Lieutenant was gone, she finally sipped the precious sweet drink. There were plenty of flavors to be had in Heaven, but most were fruity and light, with none of the strength of aytherian plants. None of the harshness of aytherian liquor that burned the throat.

The ale was not alcoholic - Rael would never drink on the job, even off-duty - but she imagined that if it were, she could make a small fortune controlling access to who got to try it.

She sipped and thought of little victories, heedless of the chance she’d given up to change the future, which would never come again.

*

Ambassador Tarantel almost crushed his tablet in rage the moment he finished reading General Rael’s response.

This was the exact sort of thing that the Executioner’s authority was meant to prevent! He cursed the military and their play for power as he paced the room to his office in the northward wing of the recently de-roofed Castle Montmorency.

The situation was bad enough with Ambassador Jeviel’s favored nephew dead. If Tarantel was to stay ahead in the game, he needed to make up for it and then some. That meant more extraction from these lands before wiping the record. Before sending forth the faithful to increase Heaven’s standing on the continent.

Jeviel had greater clout, and thus the tougher assignment, which meant that it was only a matter of time until Tarantel would be leveraged into a position of supporting him - if he didn’t act quickly.

That meant bringing the new Duke of Pride to heel... perhaps harvesting his soulstone for the Lance. And if it was indeed the Ghostheart who had claimed the crown of Pride, then Tarantel could make the argument to use the Lance on Norneau... and beyond. His mind filled with thoughts of that holy light as it purged the armies of Wrath from existence. How glorious it would be to see the Lance sweeping across the lands of Ayther. Purifying the world and making it clean and ready for Heaven’s needs.

Demonstrations were to be made, after all... once the supply of mana was secured. Tarantel would rather see it done to Norneau, given the proliferation of demonkin that had been allowed to shelter from the war there. Jeviel assumed that the Norneans were being shrewd, proclaiming high-minded ideals even as they used the demonkin in the worst of jobs, but Tarantel sensed a greater corruption at work...

If he was going to regain control of the situation, he needed to move fast, and if Riel would not order the legions...

Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

Raising his chief attendant, he cleared his throat. "Caliel, bring Colonel Farazel into this call. I have a few requests of him with regards to how we’ll disposition his troops and the Faithful at the mines."

"Right away, Ambassador," the secretary replied, before a look of confusion came over the angel.

"What’s wrong?" Tarantel asked.

"There’s an issue with the signal. Relay from Heaven is offline," the secretary reported. "I’m not seeing a cause."

"Try using the Executioner channels," Tarantel ordered.

"I am using them, Ambassador. Our local relays are up but it’s like..." The pause was long. "It’s like the Black Tower has gone completely dark. And the satellites. Maybe the moons are in alignment or there’s some solar interference..."

"Get me the Colonel however you can." Tarantel scratched behind his ear as he thought. The communications blackout might actually work in his favor... especially with how troublesome the Montmorency family had become even in their passivity. It was clear from her outburst that the "genius princess" had not been properly indoctrinated into her role, and for that, it was Tarantel’s duty to ensure that the proper place be shown to these royals whose mandate was to serve at Heaven’s pleasure, not their own. He needed to bring them all in line.

Thus, Tarantel keyed up his tablet one more time. "Selector Praitel," he said to the angel on the other side of the line, "I would like you to come to my office with materials for two."

"Ah, Tarantel... so rare of you to call. Have true Faithfuls revealed themselves in the wake of the demonic attack?" The Selector’s voice was placid and yet contained an edge of eager want. "To nourish faith is... unlike you."

"I require compliance, not faith, Praitel. Garnering the Faithful is your role. The Elevations I need of you will help us both, and prevent this situation from devolving deeper into a bloody mess."

"These mortals are soft, Tarantel. Water must be offered to wash away the blood..."

"Were there time, I would offer instead of order. But something is amiss. Do not resist me on this," Tarantel scowled into the tablet.

Praitel’s face was not terribly visible, hidden as it was by a cloak and blurred by the light of the halo he preferred to keep illuminated at all times. "What materials would you have me bring?" he asked.

"Choose what you wish. Just make sure there’s enough to guarantee compulsion," Tarantel gestured dismissively.

"As you wish," Praitel replied, ending the connection.

*

Far from Tarantel’s office, Praitel removed himself from his chair and walked toward an open case of body parts.

White and gold perfection. The sublimation of mortality, carved away from undeserving gods and turned into... apotheosis. He’d made a lifetime improving mortals, and now he was called to do the same for two more. He suspected he knew which mortals, but Tarantel was always sparing with details.

Like so many things in Heaven, the left hand fought the right and neither knew what was held in each... But Praitel knew the games the Ambassadors, the Executioners, and the Host played. They meant little to him, and perhaps it was time for him to seek someone of a similar mind when it came to mortals... and the improvement of mortals.

He chuckled to himself, behind a perfect mask of white and gold, and made a selection.

A left hand.

And a right.