-A fine line is tread when causing a man to suffer. Go too far, and death becomes a mercy.-

Three hours was all it took for the city of Limure to completely fall. News that the city had been conquered by a Devil spread within days—not from Limure itself, however. The fortress city was on lockdown. Between the lack of contact and the news of the war, people came to understand naturally that Limure was lost.

“Hm. Well, good enough.”

Astaroth looked at his remodeled palanquin and nodded.

They had taken all the weapons away from the guards, and the ones that looked less useful had been melted down and turned into an iron palanquin frame. The same black curtains and wooden throne as before were used to furnish it.

There was more Astaroth could salvage from this city, but making one improvement to his war chariot per conquest was a fun little challenge.

Whether or not his clothes counted was up for debate.

“This is a waste of time,” a bold voice proclaimed. Lord Matthew Aldermane stood in the shade of a stone overhang with his arms crossed. “Shouldn’t you be preparing our defenses? The Waren Republic will be coming to reclaim this city, and I’m not keen on dying with you.”

“Tut tut,” the small Devil wagged a finger at his contractor. “Firstly, if things get that bad, I’ll be fleeing to try again another day. At that time, you will get down on your knees, cry out that you were forced by me through unspeakable means, and play double agent until I return. Secondly, I’ve been exchanging messages with my Warlocks who are doing very good work with this hovel’s defenses. And third, hobbies are not a waste of time; time enjoyed is never wasted.”

Astaroth smiled, strolled over, and reached up to pat the greying human man on the shoulder.

“You’ve been a bit too anxious lately. Relax.”

Count Aldermane’s face flushed red when his reasonable distress was treated so lightly. “You,” he said quietly but with an intense tone, “are a monstrosity who takes pleasure in the suffering of others! I’m certain you’re plotting unholy acts upon the people! The calm these last few days won’t fool me. I’ll never relax around a demon like you.”

Very suddenly, the city lord felt pinpricks around his neck. They were small but sharp Devil claws just the tiniest bit shy of breaking the skin. Eyes burning with fire and brimstone glared up at him as cold sweat trailed down his back. The Count swallowed and felt blood drip from either side of his Adam’s apple. That slight movement had been enough for the Devil’s thumbnails to breach the epidermis.

“I am a proud Devil, not a Demon. Do not let your tongue slip again, Matthew.”

Astaroth pulled his claws back, and the Count instinctively rubbed his neck.

“And of course I’m plotting something. You don’t have the right to question or obstruct my plans.”

The Devil turned his back on the city lord and climbed up into his palanquin.

“Take me to the Northwest gate,” he ordered his pallbearers.

Lord Aldermane watched the oppressed Trolls trudge off and sighed. He continued what he had come outside for, which was to survey the grounds and ensure they were ready for this afternoon. The Devil was holding some grand announcement ceremony, for which he wanted practically every citizen present. Since that was impossible, it would instead be one citizen from each block, who would be tasked with further dispensing the information. Arranging the space and sending out notices was a massive annoyance, but as Astaroth’s slave, the Count had to do it anyway.

#

Fennel kicked a stone out of boredom and preened her feathers. “That had better be our destination,” she complained, golden hawk eyes honing in on a black speck in the distance.

“What is?” A rasping voice replied.

The female monster, somewhere between human and bird, pointed a taloned hand where she was looking and snapped her beak at Rahashik.

“There! That human city!”

“You have good eyesight,” the lizard mage chuckled. “But it isn’t quite a ‘human city’ anymore.”

“Right,” Fennel huffed.

“Be careful with that attitude of yours when you meet the prince.”

The bird woman folded her feathered arms and ruffled her wings. “I surrendered to you, not him. He has to earn my respect.”

Rahashik chuckled. “I sure came a long way to recruit a dead woman. At least I have plenty of spares.”

He looked over his shoulder where a large horde of monsters were trailing. There were many more Birdfolk like Fennel, but there were also dogs, Dogfolk, cats, Catfolk, lizards, Lizardfolk, Minotaurs, Trolls, Goblins, Hobgoblins, and Kobolds. Between his tongue and his proverbial whip, Rahashik had been quite persuasive in recruiting troops from the Stargell Wilderness.

When they arrived at the Northwestern gate, four trolls were waiting for them, carrying a palanquin. A flying red creature pulled back the black curtains before returning to perch on the back of the wooden throne.

“He’s smaller than I expected,” Fennel murmured, staring at the human-like boy on the throne.

Whatever rebellious fire she had carried with her here was greatly subdued at the moment—even, she realized, before fighting the Devil. There was just something… innately lofty about the being before her.

“Not bad, Rahashik,” Astaroth said, smiling while leaning on his fist. “Was that one next to you their leader? She has the purest Devil blood I’ve seen in this world so far, not that that’s a grand achievement. However…” the Devil Prince frowned and pointed at the cluster of Kobolds who’d come along. “Those Dragon-kin… shall I call them undesirables? They share no blood with us. Arrogant Dragonlords have tried their luck storming the Nine Hells before.”

Fennel held the plume of feathers on her chest and breathed slowly. Astaroth’s words placed an odd importance on “blood,” and he’d complimented hers. Was blood the reason she wanted—no… why she knew that she was his inferior?

“What do you want done with them, my prince?” Rahashik asked, while the Kobolds already gathered their small, scaly bodies in a defensive formation.

“Hm. There’s no war between Devils and Dragons right now. I won’t allow them as soldiers right away, but they may choose to stay as citizens or return back to where they came from.”

Astaroth turned his red eyes on the small lizards, and they debated among themselves.

“We will leave,” a representative declared.

“Very well.”

The Prince of Hell nodded, and the Kobolds left without facing any resistance.

Once they were safely out of earshot, the Lizardfolk whispered, “Should I send people after them?”

“No,” the Devil raised his hand. “It’s too soon to provoke the Dragons, assuming there are any on this rock.” He glanced at his Warlock. “Around the time when you’re able to summon pillars of flame from the sky, we can reconsider it.”

The scaly beast grinned excitedly. “That is how strong I will become?”

Astaroth chuckled at his subordinate’s unmasked glee. “Who do you take me for? That’s less than half of it.”

He glanced up at the sun to check its position. “Now then, the time is almost right. Take our new recruits to get some food and water, and then bring them to the castle plaza.”

“Yes, my prince.”

Rahashik lowered his serpentine head, and Fennel instinctively dropped to her knees while the brutal palanquin departed.

“Why are you kneeling?” the Lizardfolk laughed.

“That child was a glorious being,” she said, clasping her taloned hands in front of her chest tightly. “You are beneath me, even if you are strong and persuasive. He is above me. I could never fly as high as he belongs.”

Rahashik laughed. “You are a very strange bird! I have no idea what convinced you, but the prince is amazing. Now, get up and get moving, or you’ll get me in trouble. The prince has been looking forward to this speech for days.”

#

Count Aldermane and several other officials were gathered together in a room with a large, ovular table and a wide terrace, pouring anxiously over a very, very thick stack of documents. Their brows furrowed the more they read, and they glanced several times at the small Devil, sitting at one end of the table with his legs crossed, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

With tense expressions, the men and women, mostly of older ages, read in silence.

“As usual,” Count Aldermane rubbed his temple, “this is insanity.”

“I’m not asking your permission,” the Devil smiled. “I’m just giving you time to prepare in advance.”

“Just what are you trying to accomplish with all this?”

“This?” Astaroth picked up a piece of parchment that had slipped off the pile, drifting his way. “This is my favorite game. A never-ending game of brains, willpower, and stamina; where the losers lose everything and the winners sell their souls: bureaucracy.”

He heard a cacophony of murmuring voices drifting in from the terrace and rose from his seat. “Seems like it’s time.”

Outside, with the wind blowing through his long grey hair, a sea of people stretched out below the castle. Astaroth’s piercing red eyes picked out his Warlocks in the crowd. As well as the Birdfolk who was a promising candidate for his next Warlock. They would all hear this speech in person, which pleases him. Of course, half of the city would hear his speech, even if they couldn’t cram themselves into the castle plaza.

“Citizens of Limure!” The small Devil’s voice boomed with magical force, reaching thousands of ears. “I am Astaroth, conqueror of this city, and Prince of the fourth layer of Hell. Like the Angels some of you worship, I have the qualifications to rule over this world! But there are no Angels here. Instead, a Devil like me is here.” He paused to gather more magic into his breath. “I’m sure you mortals have many preconceived notions about what a Devil is. I’ve heard as much during my short time here, and so I can assure you all that you are gravely mistaken. We Devils are reasonable beings of law and order, and we believe in meritocracy. So, those of you who obey the law and show promise will climb ever higher, while the unruly and the worthless will sink to the bottom of Hell.” Again he had to pause, but the Devil Prince was enjoying his speech too much to bemoan his pathetic childish vocal organs.

“The Angels may find this world unworthy to set foot on, but I have decided to give you all a chance: to see if there is something or someone of value here. Know that this mercy of mine does not extend to lawless savages, however. Prove that you are civilized and capable beings! I shall now read to you the six-hundred sixty-six thousand Laws of the Nine Hells, otherwise known as the Devil’s Law! These Laws are sacred, created by the last King of Hell back when your ancestors were fish crawling through the mud! Even I, a Devil Prince, follow them strictly at all times! Imprint them upon your minds, mortals, because your lives depend on it.”

It was a grand speech, a long speech, and it continued until the sun set below the horizon. Tired and hungry mortals swayed on their feet, having retained not even a fraction of the half a million laws Astaroth spit out from memory. With the moon high and the wind cold, Prince Astaroth again smiled like a gleeful child.

“It should be about midnight now, so consider all the laws I just read to be in effect. Citizens will be allowed to browse the laws at any time in the library and the embassy building. And remember,” bloody red crescent shaped eyes looked down upon the crowd, “ignorance to the law is not a sustainable defense in court.”