Doom Story Update

2k words

***

The pocket of condensing energies gave off a resonating hum, its pitch screaming into her eardrums as the manifold collected her, thrusting her across dozens of kilometres in an instant. Sharrya was already marching by the time the portal deposited her back into the courtyard surrounding her cathedral, her hooves making deep clicks against the paved path.

The throngs of cultists parted before her as surely as water parted around a stone. Her tendency to walk straight through anyone caught in her path probably had something to do with their eagerness to move aside. Only one of the possessed turned to follow her, dipping his hooded head in respect, one she replied with a nonchalant snort.

“My esteemed Baroness,” the priest drawled. “It pleases me to see you return safely from the front lines. I assume your endeavours were a success?”

“Success?” she barked, storming up to the cathedral doors. “Maykyr’s be dammed, I’ve never experienced such a catastrophic failure! That little delinquent escaped my grasp once again, all thanks to the petulant efforts of some mutated upstarts!”

“Word reached me of the betrayal some time ago,” the priest said, leading with his staff as he followed her inside. “I’ve already sent messengers to all corners of your territory; their skulls shall adorn your mantles within the day. I beg your pardon, Baroness,” he added, glancing between his bare feet. “I swear, I possessed no knowledge that such disgruntled creatures were present in the legions.”

Sharrya paused, turning to face the priest. Her eyes were quite literally on fire in that moment, the corrupted human uttering a pitiful squeak that barely caught her ear.

“Yes you did,” she accused, bending over to demonstrate her superior height. “Every time you request an audience, you’ve always made a note that something should be done to occupy our forces in this period of waiting. You knew something like this was inevitable.”

All that came out was air when the priest opened his mouth, his quivering breaths washing over her snout. He winced away as if expecting her to strike him, but she responded to his fears with a deep sigh.

“And so did I.”

Sharrya rose away from him, dragging a hand down her face. The priest’s expression still remained timid, clambered with insecurity, but now a shade of surprise crossed his puckered face.

“I failed to heed your warnings,” she added. “Boredom and inconsideration clouded my judgement, and you remained ever incessant despite this.  You were more dutiful than I, and I apologise for it.”

The priest had the expression of an adolescent discovering his first raunchy magazine, nearly dropping his staff as he processed the last eight seconds.

“M-My Baroness,” he began, exasperated. “I am unworthy of your apologies, it is you who suffered from the imp’s tactless decisions, not I.”

“Priest, I do not give out apologies lightly, and there will not be a second time. Do yourself a favour and just accept it, I order you.”

He nodded enthusiastically, perhaps not trusting his voice to get the message. Usually the lack of a verbal answer annoyed her, but she let it slide this time. Despite her lingering troubles, she was in a very lenient mood, and it wasn’t just the priest who was shocked by the development.

Perhaps her recent interactions with Andreas had something to do with it. In all the worlds she’d hopped to and from, she’d never opened up to someone before. Sure, there had been a few flings with other Baron’s she found worthy of her attentions, but there had been so meaning to them, and the deep rivalry she felt with the Seargent was just the right amount of thrill in such a connection.

Oh how she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. Andreas had to feel the same as she was – how could he not? She knew it was difficult to form connections when you served your people in all things, never stopping to ponder on how you could serve yourself. She wanted him to see she was his answer to that.

But wanting would not make it so. Waiting around had got her nowhere, now was the time to act.

“Recall your messengers,” she said, regaining her composure and making for the end of the hall. “Leave the rebelling imps be, we have far more pressing issues that need tending.”

“O-Of course,” the priest replied, nearly dropping his staff as he hurried after her. “And… what might those issues be?”

“Andreas has slipped into the fortress – assisted by one of those meddlesome patrols they like to send out. It does not take a genius to realise he is there for a reason.”

“’A-Andreas’, my Baroness?” the preist inquired. At first she thought he was joking, but she realised only she knew Andreas by name.

“The… soldier, the would-be Slayer?” she explained, the priest nodding in understanding. “He entered the fortress through this passage I wasn’t aware of.. At first I thought it for survival’s sake, but the harder he fought, the more we spoke, and when that patrol picked him up… I’ve been led to believe that something more is afoot. He is of special importance to the Rallypoint, and I must know why.”

“But, he is beyond your reach now,” the priest muttered, giving her a weary glance as he considered his next words. “-what I mean is, he has encased himself in a highly defensible position. The Rallypoint has access to hydroponic farms, water purifiers, and sophisticated robotic foundries according to scouting reports. They are self-sufficient and heavily armed.”

“Yes, yes, I know of the Rallypoint’s capabilities.”

“Then, in your expertise, how do you plan on getting to this, ‘Andreas’? We cannot bypass the walls with portals while that suppression field of theirs is in place.”

“You just answered your own question, priest.”

The echo of clopping hooves bounced off the gothic walls as Sharrya swept to the rear of the lobby, passing through a set of iron doors at the rear of the space. Beyond the threshold, the ground ramped through a corridor, the priest following Sharrya as she walked deeper into the Earth.

“You mean to disable the field?” he asked. “But the generator lies in the very heart of the fortress, how can it be accessed? Do you plan on using the same passage Andreas used to get inside?”

“They flooded it with neck-deep water shortly after he escaped,” Sharrya explained, moving through another set of swinging doors, the hinges creaking as she thrust them open. “And such a narrow bottleneck will be lethal for any infiltrating force regardless. Any plan involving stealth is out of the question.”

“That only leaves one option,” the priest remarked, sparing her a pensive glance. “You wish to assault them directly.”

“Wish? I do not wish, I demand an assault. For too long have we been sitting idle, a fireball’s throw from their refuge, spilling our own blood while the humans rest and recoup. Our forces are fickle, I see that now. The only way to save ourselves, bring us victory, and earn myself distinction among the Maykyrs is to take the fight to them.”

They emerged into a dim cellar, the sconces lining the obsidian brickwork duplicating their shadows. Alien weapons and armour pieces suspended on chains and mounted on pedestals scattered among the room. Their ethereal nature and layout gave off an exhibitionist flair, but towards the rear half of the room were more familiar apparatus. Swords, battleaxes, cybernetic augments that replaced regular limbs, among many other tools and armaments favoured by Hell.

“My Baroness, I would never question your decisions,” the priest murmured. “But, your forces failed you the last time you gave such an order, and the cost of the attempt took a toll on your war effort.”

“I will not let such defiance go unanswered,” Sharrya growled. “When Andreas and his dropships deployed to the continent, it was you who suggested I let them pass as a means of introducing change. Well, change has been bountiful as of late, and this time there will be change…”

“Our legions at the camps are too thin to stage an attack,” the priest reminded.

“So bring them more!” she said, growing impatient of his whining. “Whip the summoners, deploy the reserves, send your messengers to the corners of the front, bring every single claw and horn to bear on that Rallypoint!”

A section of the wall on their left broke off into a narrow passage, the sounds of metallurgy and pumping heat echoing from the depths. Smithed weapons were created directly beneath the cathedral to arm the masses, but the pieces here were for her use only.

“And send for the gore nest guardians as well,” she added, striding between two weapon racks. “and deploy my cyberdemon honour guard, too. They have spent enough time sitting on their hands here at the cathedral.”

“H-How many do you wish – demand – to send?”

“All of them! Did I not just say I want every legion we have moving to that Rallypoint?”

“W-We would leave the whole continent undefended,” the priest said. “The nests, the cathedral, it would all be open to attack.”

“Annihilating the Rallypoint is all that matters,” she said. “They will hardly pose a risk to our assets if we occupy them with a surprise attack. With every one of my legions deployed on the field, our superiority in numbers will assure a swift victory.”

“The humans have access to the largest artillery guns on the planet. Heavy bombardment will make quick work of such sheer numbers. With respect, Baroness, in comparison to your prior attacks, I fear little to no change.”

Sharrya reached the far end of the cellar, stepping up to a gate built into a section of the wall. A small space was released behind the bars, Sharrya turning a nearby switch. There was a bumping noise, and then the gate began to maw open, the priest going speechless as he stared at what lay behind it.

Draped over an arranged set of poles, a suit of mechanical armour posed in a resting position, its bright blue colour contrasting against the dark bricks. The leggings were comprised of three pieces total - a sloping plate for the thighs, a thin piece for her shins, and a angled piece that would fit comfortably against her digitigrade legs, with a splayed open cap so her hooves stuck out from the bottom.

The chest piece was narrow and slim, the section covering the belly protruding out into a pair of distinct orbs as they neared the clavicle. There were textures engraved into the alloy, thin white lines branching over and around to the back piece, the tracings similar to what one might find on a circuit board.

Heavy shoulder pads spikes with coils capped one end of the gauntlets, pads designed to fit around the knuckles making the other. Conjoining them was a sleeve of blue alloy, more metal teeth forming rings over the forearm.

Lastly, the helmet, Sharrya having to angle her head a little to meet the solitary, narrow slit forming the visor. The mouthguard was split in twain, designed to be worn with the user’s mouth exposed, while the metal cap was a whole piece inches thick, with two branching horns of grey metal poking out from the ears.

She could see her reflection in the battlesuit, the light from the sconces making it sparkle under her scrutiny. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the priest regarding the armour with wonder, and Sharrya couldn’t help but share the sentiment. She had not worn this armour in centuries, but she’d be dammed before letting it fester in the darkness of her cathedrals.

“This… is change,” Sharrya muttered, reaching out to pluck at the suit with her claw. The suit made a little plinking sound as the keratin touched the breastplate. “I, along with my elite guard, will be the decisive edge that drives us to victory.”

She reached for the right-hand gauntlet, where a bright red flail stood at the side of the armour. She gripped the wrappings on the pole, then brandished it in front of her chest, its familiar weight hitting her in a wave of pleasant nostalgia.

“Your personal involvement will certainly even the odds,” the priest mused, flinching when she thumbed a mechanism that let the spiked ball slink off the handle, its attaching chain making an echoing rattling noise.

“I will do more than just even them. Once I disable the guns, I will personally rip out the heart of their suppression field generator. That will be your cue to flood the fortress with portals, from there you will toss through every possessed you can, sowing chaos and allowing the rest of the legions to bypass the walls directly. From there, victory is inevitable.”

The priest locked his fingers together thoughtfully. “Your wisdom is matched only by your tactical supremacy, my Baroness. Ripping apart that eyesore shall be your most glorious hour.”

“Indeed,” Sharrya said, rolling her eyes. She must have assuaged his concerns if he was switching back to petty compliments. “Now, send for the legions, direct them to the Rallypoint, I will be there shortly.”

The priest nodded, turning for the exit. He got about halfway through the armoury before she called out to him.

“Priest!” she shouted. “One last thing.”

He turned, bowing for her to continue.

“Listen to me very carefully. The human, Andreas, is mine. He is not to be touched or harmed in any way. Any demon who so much as growls in his direction, I will burn them so hard they will have blisters the size of cacodemons. And if you or any of your messengers fail to get across my point, priest, being burned alive will look like paradise in comparison to what I’ll do to you. Am I clear?”

The priest’s eyes widened to the size of plates, but he did reply with a nod. Or maybe that was him just trembling like a leaf, but Sharrya motioned for him to leave either way.”

“And if he is spotted, I am to be warned and potalled to his location immediately,” she added. “Now begone, I have work to do.”

The little taps of his naked feet quickly faded, leaving Sharrya alone in the armoury. She let the flail rest on one shoulder, using her other hand to pluck the robotic helmet from its stand. It was heavy, even for her, and for a minute all she could hear was the crackle of flames as she and the little yellow visor had a staring contest.

If I could shit on your parade all by myself, imagine what I can do with an army at my back.

“Oh, Andreas,” she chuckled. “Such poor, poor choice of words…”