“Do you know where the king is?” Willem hurriedly asked Kha, the demon supervising the engraving of the weapons and armor. The diggers worked quickly, motivated by fear and leering eyes. There were perhaps fifty demons in the camp to be outfitted, from what Willem had seen, each to be given both claws and plates. The process would take perhaps three days if all the diggers were pulled from their labors in the mountains, the bottleneck being the engraving. A perfectly forged claw would be ruined if the rune was forged incorrectly, from what Kha had told him. Already there was a pile of discarded pieces, waiting to be melted down and reforged.

The demon looked up with a startled expression, its purple tongue darting out momentarily with a pause before jerking towards the mountains. “Charging the runes…” it replied before once more leering over the shoulder of that unfortunate digger, whose trembling fingers struggled to hold the chisel steady. That the ground nearby was damp and dark with bloodstains hinted at the fates of those that had came before him.

Willem led Norus towards the same tunnel through which they had entered the Outlands, what felt like so many days ago. Was it truly less than a week? Such a notion seemed too foreign to be reality. That gaping mouth carved out of the stone, framed by wood, seemed to draw them closer in like some great beast. Near the entrance, the king knelt with the fruits of its labors surrounding it. Pieces of rune-weapons lay scattered around in the dirt, smoking failures waiting to be carried off by nearby diggers. Those that were successes were collected to be delivered back to the forges, hardened and tempered a final time before being given to a demon.

Before the king knelt a digger, his form prostrate and trembling as coils of purple danced in the air. It was a moment before Willem fully understood, that the magic was the digger’s, being pulled out of his body and sent into the rune. As more and more purple ribbons were drawn out, a bloody scream was wrenched out of the man’s mouth, filling the air before two more standing nearby quickly silenced him with cupped hands. As the spell was completed and the rune charged, the now-depleted digger was hauled off, another dragged forward to take his place. Willem could only watch, the part of his heart that squirmed in protest not enough to make him take action against this.

He strode forward as the king finished another of the rune-constructs, coils of purple binding around the metal and sinking into the symbols. The engravings began to glow as more power was added, the surface growing blurry and indistinct as the runes began to blend with one another, separate parts coming together into a hazy whole. There were perhaps six separate runes on this piece, the magic housed in the body of an average man only enough to fully charge perhaps three. And this piece was but a single shell for a claw, designed to slide over the talon. Willem could only imagine more armor plates and more rune-claws for each demon in the Outlands, each requiring magical power. It very well may be that they could deplete these mountains of diggers and still not have enough for all the runes they wished for.

Yet what were these rune-pieces for? Willem could only guess from what Kha had told him, that the carvings were for flame—the only blade known to cut the skal’va. Flame would consume the shadows, would burn their mutable forms into ash. Claws trailing fire would cut through swarming clouds. Armor shrouded in a conflagration would resist even the smallest tendril of the darkness. The king had demanded war; these demons would not merely be sent forward to die at the fangs of the skal’va.

“I would speak with you.” Willem growled out, the words distorted to his ears as he approached the king. The demon was crouched over its work, sparks of magic flying off into the air with crackling hisses. As it finished, it threw a brief glance at Willem, that blood-red eye glinting in the sunlight. “We cannot march to Malifor.” he spoke, steeling himself for whatever was to come.

He certainly was not expecting the king to whirl up in a sudden surge, lips peeled back in a threatening snarl. “We? You would command my people? Did they name you king while I labored here?” Those two eyes were bloodshot from strain of continuous magic, the tendons in the demon’s neck bulging like thick cords. Clearly the price of its power was taking its toll; it seemed even the indomitable king was still prey to fatigue.

Lowering his head meekly, Willem felt his heart thumping out a panicked rhythm. The king was like some beast on the brink of rampaging; any careless action on his part might very well push the demon over the brink. Tension made every muscle in his body taut, instinct telling him to lower his gaze subserviently. Slowly, he tilted his head towards the side, baring his neck meekly while keeping his gaze downwards. Unable to see what the king intended, he found himself frozen with anticipation, not even daring to draw in a shaky breath. It was not for the space of a few painful heartbeats until he heard the slow hiss as the king pulled back that he dared to look up and let the tension flow out of his body.

The demon stepped back, claws balled into fists as it closed its eyes with a grunt. With they were opened once more, its bestial features seemed to somewhat calmer, as if it had gained control of its instincts. The king waved a hand offhandedly, snarling out, “Enough.” Drawing in a short, ragged breath, it gestured for Willem to continue. “Speak.”

He swallowed hard, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to see Norus behind him in support. The soldier was clearly weak from the strain of being up and about so early, his body low on the magic it needed to function. Twice on the way here, Willem had heard the man panting hard and struggling to stand, even if he denied it whenever asked. Yet it was important that he be here, for the sake of what was about to be told to the king.

“We cannot march south to Malifor.” he repeated, continuing hurriedly. “We are too few in number to fight the skal’va with what we have.”

The king frowned, throwing a glance towards the war camp that was rallying nearby. “We are forged from stone and earth.” it growled in annoyance. “Do not mistake us for your soft men, so easy crippled from walking. Even a pup of ours would be worth ten of your warrior.”

Willem nodded, knowing that he was treading on dangerous soil. “Aye, that I do not deny. But you have not seen the skal’va in Malifor as I have. Whatever it was like here in Altaros, this is different.” He remembered his dream, when he had first seen Faith in that tomb. He remembered what he had seen as he had flown over the land. “The skal’va there have swallowed everything. The dirt, the sand, every crow-cursed shadow, they’re hiding inside it. You were able to stop it happening in Altaros. But Faith succeeded in the south. Those are his lands now, and less than a hundred of your men marching into his can’t possibly hope to last more than a few days.”

The king snorted still, although its look seemed more pensive this time. “Not less than a hundred. The diggers will march as well.” Willem felt himself start in surprise at the notion. There were easily over two hundred diggers in these mountains; they would be a formidable force indeed. Yet as he thought it over, there was a gaping flaw that stood out at him.

“Yet there cannot possibly be enough runes for them to use. And without weapons, they cannot hope to do anything against the skal’va. They’ll be fodder, to be shredded in the first few minutes of crossing the Gates.” he protested. “Listen to me, you don’t have the numbers as of now to march south and kill Faith. But I know a way for you to get more fighting men.”

There was a pause for a moment after he spoke where there was nothing but silence, the wind stirring the grasses below. Willem was tense, waiting for a response that had yet to come from the king. Yet the longer the period wore on, the more he was afraid of what would come. Finally, the demon tilted its head to the side, giving a gruff, “Continue.”

A short sigh left his mouth before he gestured towards Norus. “The legions to the east, in the Heartlands—they’re under attack right now. They’re requesting any aid possible. If we come in and save them, I’m certain they would be willing to listen about what we have to say. They have hundreds of men in the legions. And more importantly, they have channelers.”

The king gazed briefly at Norus, snorting loudly. “Softskins with wooden shields, what use are they to us? What hope do they have against the skal’va, if you insist that my demons cannot stand against them?”

Willem felt his mouth widen into a smile involuntarily. “Humans have oil, my king. They have fat and wax and pitch. All these things can be filled with barrels, can be hauled to the field. And they can be burned. Your runes are fine for a single soldier, but they are not enough to stop the tide of shadows. An inferno will.” He felt his voice grow fervent, passionate. This was his strongest point; the king had to believe him. “Think about it: a wall of fire that even the skal’va cannot hope to cross. That is the humans offer you, not soldiers. Resources needed to wage a war. The food your men require. The steel for more weapons. The Heartlands have these, and more. A waygate even—they have the magic to send you directly to the Gates.”

The king seemed to be lost in thought, and Willem dared not disturb the demon. After a moment of mulling over its thoughts, it grunted out, “You spoke of channelers?” Willem nodded quickly, knowing that he was on the cusp of convincing the king.

“Norus only saw the one—a child—but there are likely more. The humans are divided in the Heartlands; pieces as valuable as channelers are kept hidden. There are many houses all fighting over the Capital. If you can support one and crush all the others, unify the people under a single banner, then you would hold control of the Heartlands. It would be a simple matter—you take virtually no risk yourself. No humans could ever best demons in the field. All that this demands is a little of your time, to seize control of the entire east. And afterwards, the resources of the legions would be at your disposal.” There. That was his pitch. He was no merchant, with no glib silver tongue, but that was his best. Would the demon take it?

The king smirked, fangs bared in amusement. “Humans squabbling amongst themselves? Aye, then, this diversion could prove interesting.” Slowly, the king tilted its head upwards towards the sky, as if reminiscing. “The demons here were born in the Capital, did you know? But we had to flee from those lands. A host of humans were bearing down on the city, and we butchered our way through them all. My people fought out of the Capital and carved a path to the Outlands. We were looking for a place to settle, for a home, and we found it. And now that we finally found it, it would seem that we must leave our home to go back to that filthy human Capital once more. Truly, fate is a capricious thing.”

It pointed a single claw at Norus. “Then we will march east to aid your people, and at the end of whatever war we settle on their behalf, they will kneel. And if they would not, they their pathetic throne will be covered with their blood.”