Unknown Dusk Moon

Demon

The Elder demon lumbered, dragging his heels in the ash screen that was kicked up due to the brawl with the Rumbler, drones, and glowing one. It was fun but exhausting. They weren't his goal. Thrice he missed the human, thrice he let his desperate hunger get the better of him. He left under the cover of the ash storm the Rumbler kicked up, after he'd been impacted with the equivalent force of a skyscraper being dropped atop him. The ash made for a good medium to travel through. He limped, a wing, an eye, an arm, and most of his right leg were gone. It would heal. He could regenerate within the blink if en eye, but he needed to keep hidden as he stalked his human prey. Even if he was down to his torso, he could still devour the human with ease. Healing would attract the attention of the glowing one and they would flee. He was not so fast even with flight. Not as fast as the glowing one who vexed him for what seemed like an eternity. The Rumblers he could handle, but she was a wiley thing. He only mauled her once, a lucky strike taking out her arm and loosing her of the polearm. He gained something precious from that from that bout. A trump card.

He followed the scent of fear, hopelessness, and human. It led him to an old familiar site; of the many shrines he did battle in before his powers overwhelmed the planet. The scent of it enticed him. The perfect trap. All he would need is his miasma to flood the shrine and end them. He also had his massive strength, inhuman durability, and an infinite well of stamina limited only by his attention span. He had fought a Rumbler in the past, matching it blow for blow. Then suddenly there were others, which made it more interesting. Then the glowing one appeared, frustrating him to no end. From agony came growth, it was a fact of life he accepted. He needed to thank the glowing personally for the fruit that it bore.

Frustration and suffering gave way to strength and power. He suffered worse against his own brethren. The more he was brutalized, the more resistant he became. And he suffered eons of wounds and torment. He felt he was on the cusp of evolution. Just a little more and change would occur. This human may tip that balance, giving the power he desired.

He steadily made his way along the grey ash, leaving the cloud behind. He knelt down and sifted the ash between his fingers.

He had lost so much.

It would be a fair assessment to say this moon was now made up of him. His bits and pieces were torn away with the nearly constant fighting. Each molecule of ash was him. Each jutting crystal, each ounce of albedo in the sky. All of it was him and the ones he summoned.

It was a fair assessment to say the moon was him.

He had once thought if each piece of him was torn away and regenerated, was he still the original demon? How many variants of himself were consigned to oblivion? Did it matter?

He shook his sad gargoyle face, ending his pointless thoughts.

Pointless wisdom.

Pointless philosophy.

“All that matters is the bloodshed,” He said to himself.

There would be no escape or victory for them. The glowing one was without her weapon, making her weaker than a demon of equal strength. Angels needed their arms and demons only needed their arms. He gauged she had not obtained full angelhood yet and would be easy to defeat in close quarters. He would fill the shrine with his sickening miasma to stop them dead. If they fled, it would be either to his direction or a secret passage. He would continue his pursuit until they were trapped again. The human would fall. And he would be free of this doomed world.

Another thought occurred to him. He remembered something else he could do. He lacked the ability to travel galactically and if he devoured or destroyed the human, he would still be stuck here on this moon. The human was weak, the glowing one was weak. He would devour the glowing one, her speed useless in close quarters and force the human in contract. Capture the human and find his vessel.

He would possess the human and flee the planet for fresher game.

The Elder demon took his first steps into the shrine. His flesh blinked and his body became whole again. He rubbed at his beady eye with the back of his clawed knuckle, his vision restored. His body was renewed. He grinned, out how easy it was. He breathed in, expanding his throat and lungs like a balloon, and then exhaled a constant flow of black smoke. The miasma was a smokey dew that clung to walls, floors, and ceilings. Beings began to sprout from the fog. They were blackened skeletons with golden eyes. They were as fast as a man and good in numbers. They would attack en mass and drive them to him. This is what the moon was made up of. At one point it had affected gravity, reaching a terminal collision with physics. The moon had grown several sizes that day, but no glowing one or Rumbler was defeated, The bodies of his demonkin were crushed under due to the weight of each other, their ash burying him underneath. He was then struck with the worst kind of affliction; boredom. There he slept in his sanctuary.

But now he was awake. He would take the human.

And then the Elder Demon would let loose his wrath across the system.

Glowing red dots tracked him and his summons. The sudden screech crack of fire surprised him as his demonkin began to fall to blood chunks under the chattering fire. A detonation rocked the room, sending more flying. He chuckled to himself, the human had setup defenses.

"How precious."

Black blood splattered the floor and walls as the demonkin rushed headlong. More of them began to crawl from the miasma and their own blood, creating more demons. A circular process that ended with his victory- or a draw in the Rumbler's case. He felt several pulse sabots plink against his flesh, nothing to even warrant notice. The left side of the room fell first, then the right. The middle held, with a long stream of fire coming from the long stairs. He sent his demonkin rushing the halls and corridors on the left and right sides of the temple, finding no other signs apart from ruined turrets and spent shrapnel.

He felt the human was down the middle steps. The volume of fire all but confirmed it. He stood in the massive doorway, spewing his miasma, focusing his hate and malice to the center hall. It was now a good opportunity to use his ability he suffered so long to obatin. He would need it against the crafty glowing one.

"Forshadowed Forsight."

The spell was cast, the incantation complete. He felt the power flowing, his mind expanding with possibilities. A blue glowing eye revealed itself floating above his forehead. He knew what the glowing one would do. He halted his miasma, the damage had been done. The sludge along the floor would produce more of them without anymore input. He stretched his wings out and rushed from the temple. He had only three minutes and forty-two seconds to arrive at where they would flee to. This would force a direct confrontation at the temple. Then he would finally win.

Soon he would finally be free.