The Demons Within

A worthy War

The bronze-skinned man laughed manically as he tread through the horde of mortal soldiers, his flaming broadsword sweeping through dozens with each strike. He was having the most fun he'd had in centuries, the bloody mess of this planet fueling a fire he had feared died out. After so long spent starving due to the mortal's peaceful ways, at long last he was free to spill blood and strike out against his former Master. War was finally free to cause Chaos once more.

The Foolish mortals had gathered all of their greatest military minds on one single planet in a desperate attempt to find a way to stop his siblings. Their fragile little minds were protected by legions of soldiers and the (now) greatest of the Lord's servants. Thirsting for the greatest fight of this age, and advised by his saner siblings War had turned his army towards the fortress world of 6115 B.

Piles of bodies raised meters into the ground, the grey cement of the fortress's ramparts hidden from view. The mortals he fought were disgusted by fighting over their comrades corpses, but to War it was simply part of the fun. This is what he was made for, this is what he was named for. The greatest warriors of the past ages, gifted to him by his brother Death, fought at his side. The automatic artillery of Pestilence rained down heavy ordnance from Space, and the mortals' inferior models desperately attempted to fight back.

Deep shudders ran though the planet's very crust as the soulless warriors of Pestilence sped up their destruction. War scowled heavily at the thought of his greatest game being ended prematurely, and began ripping through the mortals even faster. The more blood he spilt, the more lives snuffed out personally the better. Centuries of contained bloodlust spilt out as he lifted his massive broadsword in one handing, pointing it towards the largest of the Angels on the battlefield. What was meant to be a challenge to a duel turned into a inarticulate roar as War charged, Crushing fighters on both sides under his massive footsteps.

Before he had planned and strategized with an intelligent he rarely showed, but now that he had cracked the orbital defenses and stood in front of his foe, he reverted into the primalness of bloodshed. Towering over the mortals- the Angel being among the few of its kind that could match the horsemen's true height- the two leviathans of combat collided. Flaming Broadsword met Gilded axe, and empty fists met heavy plate. The Angel managed to stay standing under the fury of War itself, it's heavy armor merely denting instead of rending.

Smaller angels rushed to their comrades aid, knowing that if their most powerful fighter fell this world was doomed no matter what. They had to hold until the mortal generals had escaped the world, but even that was a far away goal. Their lives were forfeit, but the mortals they fought alongside with did not know that yet.

Foaming at the mouth, War swung his sword in a flurry of movement, ignoring the little gnats that were trying to distract him. Their blast of light hurt, but they were not powerful enough to actually injure War itself. Still, it slowed him enough to allow the Angel to fight back. Sparks flew off in a frenzy as the two exchanged blows. Anyone to close to the two combatants were slaughtered, melting in the presence of the unholy flames of War.

A particularly heavy shockwave from Pestilence's artillery temporarily stopped the fight, as even War lost his footing. The thick cement ruptured, permanently creating a thick scar along the planet's surface visible even from space. Whole legions of combatants on both sides caught in the blast were instantly evaporated, and the constant grind of metal against metal stopped for the first time in days.

Sensing an opportunity, the Angel quickly lunged at War, striking at a crack in his armor. Shock spread around the clearing as they saw War bleed, the thick axe stuck into his shoulder blade. The dark blood of War seeped onto the ground, hissing as it came in contact with the ground. Taking advantage of the shock, War plunged his sword into the Angels chest, growling as his arm cried out in Pain.

The rest of the Angels around him were dealt with easily, causing the little mortal's morale to shatter. Still, the victory was not as sweet after the blinding pain the Angel weapon had dealt. Deep rivets of blood ran down his arm, a deep sense of anger rising at the sight of it.

A few seconds later a armored figure popped into existence, sending waves of tension through War before he recognized who it was. Pestilence has arrived, his latest objective obviously finished. Entire portions of his armor was torn off, and the flesh of his left hand had been burned off revealing the metallic 'bones' underneath, yet he still looked happy. His ruby eyes gleamed manically, and a twisted smirk spread across his flesh. 

"Uriel is dead at my hand brother! The wards on this world have fallen, and now we may phase once more."

Pestilence looked especially pleased after he proclaimed his victory to War, and War felt the pit of anger point towards his brother. War had been injured by some random angel on some stupid world because of Pestilence's Weaponry, While Pestilence slew one of the Archangels. His brain gently reminded him that Pestilence was defending his Homeworld from Uriel's hosts, and that War was the commander of that artillery for the time being, and slowly he felt his anger towards Pestilence weaken.

After a grunt of approval, War turned back towards the rising citadel in the distance. With two horsemen, albeit slightly injured, this planet would be an empty husk in a day. Already he felt the familiar energy of the Apocalypse, the two oldest of the horsemen battering the weakened planet. His hosts pushed ever forwards, the loses being replenished by the mechanical warriors of Pestilence that had arrived from the titanic ships above. War grinned, knowing that they could never lose this war.