Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions

'WHO THE SHIT do you cunts think you are?'

As much as Israfel wanted to shove this proper in the man's club face, just soon as using [Mind ripper] on him to shatter his Psyche into resonating better to his words. In lay terms, mind-control the desert king into becoming his zombie. Instead, Rafel shut his eyes and breathed through his mouth. After a minute, he opened them again; what he said was much tamer.

"OI! LISTEN HERE, YOU METAL-LOVING MORTALS! I am the APOLLYON. I bear the blood of Lucifer. The one thing standing between the Bonelands and utter FUCKING DESOLATION is I. Me, motherfucker!

"I am the only one of the [Fallen] on your side. Let me ask you all a question: have you been to the high Capital since it became Titans Landing? Have you seen your Nobility squirm in the face of literal demons? [Grey Maulers]. [Wailing Widows]. [Grim Reapers]. This is your lot... all you shall inherit if you decide to play against my hand. Now, trust me, I have nothing against me kind, but have you seen a horny [Bonereaver]. Yeah?!" Rafel dry-laughed. "They'd fuck your mother, your father, and your fucking sheep!"

He raised a political fist, honor in his radiant Zhao sunset eyes. "I stand here, offering. I stand here, choosing to leave my Regency, my command, my rule, my FUCKING MONEY! Most of you must've heard about my Aunt: the [Dark Dowager]. Do you really believe she'll let you all keep your little wild camps after keeping her nephew from her?

No. I didn't think so." His baritone rose an octave. "I have the blessing of the Vestal Grace, Supreme Mother Indira!" he announced in the throne room. "I do not come here bare of favor. She has blessed me by the [Central Core]!"

"Ooh!" The Elders in the room drew nearer. A hush fell over the masses. Everyone held still, intrigued at the mention of the Vestals: the one thing all the Badlands agreed was sacred.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"I also have boon from Dementa, the 2nd Triune Skullrider: an [Indomitable Survivor] rank. The Junker fuckin' queen! I myself am a [Solitary Survivor] Rank. So you all better fucking pay me the respect due when I speak. I'm pretty sure I showed you at the gates what happens when I am underestimated. I will repeat this once only: THIS OFFER IS THE LAST YOU'RE GONNA GET."

Rafel literally felt the temperature in the hall thrum down. He just as soon smelled fear. And a bit of female. With his [Third Eye], invisible in the center of his forehead, he saw in shadows the blurry arms of lust tentacles extending from the petite princess. As much as Hosanna was angry at him, she still got attracted to the power in which he humbled her father's court of Elders.

Rafel saw the faces of the old men, tan of the desert, get even browner. He wouldn't want to be the reason for a sudden heart attack now, would he?

He sighed. "But it's only fair what you're asking—"

Inside him, Rafel was only caving because he had fucked Hosanna—and he liked her sixteen year-old vitality. So he said to her father, "I suppose we all need something beyond legacy, honor, or any of that shit to fight for."

This brought laughs to the room. Even the guards. It was nice. He felt the fear recede. Not the lust though.

"Yes. Part of me wants this war for revenge. Those bastards ruling the Continent killed my concubines. They are no longer family. All those things you said are true." He looked to Hosanna, his voice going a tad soft—which it never did. And everybody looped in; they knew it had to be serious. Rafel told them, "now many of you don't know this, but I was the First Ascendant. I was here in Eldoria when the fae ruled blessedly. The Gods Blessed. I know what a Continent of peace and prosperity looks like.

I was also the Champion of Hel Arena for many red moons. Trust me when I tell you, nothing good can from having Lilith and Lucifer as kings of the earth realm. Give or take a few hundred years, they will convert this world to the nature of Hell. And make no mistake, they won't feel a thing.

These people are inhuman. . .super-human. And I hate to say this but... we are devils."

Zaftig clutched to his daughter's hand.

"It's the truth." Rafel nodded. "—so yeah, when the whole earth is burning few seasons from now, you know who isn't gonna feel a thing: your Royal Court. Why? Because they're freaking demons! They have felt the sting of a thousand supernovas.

And believe me, even the sting of your scorched earth is nothing compared to the burn of the Abyss. In the inferno Lilith shall bring, you all shall wish for the salvation of the desert."

Another silence reigned. It was so quiet those in the hall heard the chimes of a clock machine in a nearby room.

Zaftig stood sharply in the modest throne room.

The breeze was torrid and ruffled his fat robes. The man in it wasn't. His eyes was a river as it swum from the whitestone dais to meet Rafel's.

"Say no more. I, Lord Zaftig, Keeper of the brass stronghold, Caer Mullhen devote my armies to your proposition. I vow all swords and cannons under me to your cause. I and my Deathlies shall fight with you, Apollyon."

Rafel climbed the penultimate step of the dais. It brought him up to headlevel with the desert king.

"Shall you unify?"

"Yes." Zaftig bowed. "I shall unify."

Rafel offered his hand.

All around them, people were rising to their feet; the Elders, the home Vestal rendered to each Skullrider, and then Hosanna.

"Shake on it?" Rafel spat onto his palm.

He was not adept in the ways of the Badlands, but this much of their strange culture he knew. Zaftig answered with a broad smile, big as a gleaming oasis. "Definitely, my friend." He spat into his palm also. And then grabbed for Rafel's hand.

The sound of clapping filled the air. As the hands of the masses jammed together, the throne room of Caer Mullhen was lit in robust smiles. And the promise of victory. Hosanna applauded, loving to see her father get along with Israfel—her secret lover. She would require his blessing in the future, if she was to make a sister wife in the harem of the Apollyon.

The clapping didn't seem to want to stop, even after Zaftig and Rafel released hands.

Zaftig was proud. In truth, beyond joy. He had never seen his hold of thieves and institutionalized barbarians cheer for something other than gold. Something as abstract as freedom. A beautiful thing. He beheld this all and gave a silent thanks to Visha. At first sight, he thought he might've had to slip a drop of [Blackroot] into Israfel's mead cup.

But now... This man was different from the beasts at Titans Landing. Certainly.

Zaftig told him gently. "You may be Lucifer's blood, dear friend. But you are no devil."

Rafel laughed. "I don't know about that!" He said back, then added as an afterthought, "...friend."

The clapping was still going on. Someone in a corner of the small hall belted out:

"Hail the Rebel Lord."

Another person in another corner recited this, a woman, "yeah! Hail the Rebel Lord!"

Everyone looked to everyone. And then up to their smalltown king. Zaftig said clearly. His voice did not waver. His eyes were steadfast. "Hail the Rebel Lord."

"HAIL THE REBEL LORD!" The Elders grated in unison. Before long, the little throne room of Caer Mullhen was thunderous in chanting.

"HAIL THE REBEL LORD!"

"HAIL THE REBEL LORD!!"

"HAIL THE REBEL LORD!!!"

Khalifa sidled close behind to Rafel. Her veils covered her mouth and most of her chiseled face, but Rafel heard when she whispered. "Wow, sir. You have become a legend. The first to unify the tribes of the Badlands. We are going to need a flag." she finished. And a small chuckle echoed afterward.

'A flag?' Rafel mused. 'Peitho certainly has her work cut out for her. Between my vision of omen last night and this salient suggestion. Hmm. Peitho, are you getting all this?'

[Assuredly, Lord host.] His system chimed, her voice a little naughty.

Rafel had to raise his hand to stop the happy mob of Caer Mullhen. Their chanting and ebullience and applause, near childlike, trickled out when they spotted his upraised palm.

"And they say it's all vulture country out here?"

A round of laughter erupted.

"Who says desert people can't be fun!" Rafel said again.

A higher round of laughter. And a few snorts.

"Whew! Wow!" He evened out his voice. "Thank you, Caer Mullhen. But I didn't come here without a plan for the Badlands. . ."

His new statement left everyone anticipating. The quietude resumed.

"Damnamenaeus," Rafel called.

Out from the rigid backs of three guards wielding standing [Goldcrest Rifles], the sorcerer stepped out. Rafel introduced the man, taking the dais down one step at a time with each sentence; he unveiled before all—even his harem—something only he, the Supreme Mother Indira, and Damnameneus had known. Up until this point.

"This is a Historian of the High Magus Arts. A [Rank S] Druid. You see his weird white eyes. He's an Immortal too. He's been around since the Old gods. Damnamenaeus here was scholared in the Citadel of Corynthia, back when magic was in lightning and river. He is well-versed in fourteen languages of the nations spread in our Continent.

As well as a few of the forgotten dialects of the ancients. He knows the [Arcane] better than his soul. I don't think a sorcerer gets much higher than him. If any." Rafel wasn't flattering. It was literal veracity.

"...The Supreme Mother Indira was kind of heart to summon him to assist our cause.

In his hand is a [Map Magnificus]: a sovereign scroll. The product of an [Utopian Survivor] tool. A [Divine grade] equipment, of the highest Rank in the Badlands as we know it. IT SHOWS THE FUTURE."

"Woah!" People gasped.

Rafel caught Zaftig's wonderment and explained. "I withheld because I needed to trust you enough to fight without promise of victory or laurels before I could show to you the promise of one." He put his hand out to the [Supreme Magus]: "If you please, Damnamenaeus."

The mystic historian stood right beside Rafel in front of the hall in his navy tunic with the [Epic Beast] collection runes. A charm of a Starfire dragon dangled from his neck. If his [Distaff Orb] were ever stolen, the charm was equally potent of magic.

Damnamenaeus went stiff as his rod before all the room. The parchment in his hands rolled off and floated in the air.

Doonnngggg!!!

His Distaff pounded the brass floors of the throne room of its own accord.

"Behold the Future!"

His deep timbre rattled the air. A second later, due scroll... the blank scroll exploded into a starburst of white light. The throne room was transformed to the visible spectrum of the Badlands terrain:

Everyone gasped.

They no longer stood in Caer Mullhen. All of them. They had being transported.

They saw dunes and mountains. Savannas and small brooks. Massive craters and canyons. Gorges and small cacti forest. Baobabs and giraffes. Lounging tigers and parading elephants. Red-bottom baboons and koalas.

"Is it this same desert?" Hosanna wondered aloud.

Yes, it was the Badlands. But what was formerly home to only vultures and hard-grains and scry, was now transfigured to a zoar of streams and waterfalls and peacocks and grizzlies. A picture perfect country. A real country.

"This is the picture of what the South could be like." Rafel walked in the imaginary grassland. Water flies with bluish wings danced around him. Some Elders put out their hands to touch passing egrets. But their fingers went right through the pretty birds. Though a paradise, it wasn't yet real.

The clouds above were fluffy and full.

The sun didn't char the eyes.

"Glory to Visha." A Elderwoman praised.

On the rear, Khalifa was still trying to pet a furball rabbit, entranced in the trance.

"No more dry trails." One voice said.

"No more vultures." Another offered.

"No more intense days. No more sandstorms. No more scavenging over scraps. No more wilderness. No more bleakness." This was Hosanna.

"No more Scorched Earth." Khalifa gave up and just watched the rabbit play, still satisfied.

Rafel nodded in the [VR] beauty.

"No more Scorched Earth."