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Unknown Dusk Moon
The Elder demon lumbered, dragging his heels in the ash screen that was kicked up due to the fight. The fight with the Rumbler was fun but exhausting. He left under the cover of the ash storm the Rumbler kicked up. One of his wings was missing and his grey hide was black in many areas. One of his eyes was gone as well as half of his right arm, hanging by the flesh. It would heal. He could heal instantly but refused to. 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 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 got 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 saw where they were holed up; deep inside the shrine. 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 frustration 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 change. 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 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.
“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. An angel and their weapon were usually better than a demon of equal strength. 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 him or a secret passage. He would continue his pursuit until they were trapped again. The human would fall.
Another thought occurred to him. He remembered something else he could do. He lacked the ability to travel and by devouring 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 a vessel.
He would possess the human and flee the planet for fresher game.
The Elder demon took his first steps into the shrine. He breathed in, expanding his throat and lungs like a balloon, and then exhaled a constant flow of black smoke. The miasma was a black smokey dew, that clung to walls, floors, and ceilings. Beings began to sprout from the fog. They appeared as 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 lost, leaving him bored and buried under the ash of his defeated summons. The bodies of his summoned demonkin were crushed under each other to ash with him underneath. He was then struck with the worst kind of affliction; boredom. There he slept under the ash.
And now he was awake. He would take the human.
And then the Elder Demon would then let loose his wrath across the system.