A hundred knighted high-demon warriors in complete hellion steel amour mounted on Alabarian horses, Twelve Gargoyles guards, Three adult firewyrm dragons, and over Three Hundred low-demon footsoldiers marching through the Ironwood Valley, their ranks bristling with banners bearing the sigil of House Gorethi[1] ~the burning man. At the Front of the column, marching in full regalia of Vulkan armoury; Danguid Musk, Doraz [The Flameless], Mezzar of Caxmere, Bhashmur of House Ashbourne and Hurthur Gorethi, the Dominus Inferius, Second born, True Blood Son of House Gorethi; a Bane, a true Ashblood, Descendant of Hades, and the well-known [The Horrible]. The mood was rendered somewhat less intriguing by the presence of Simon of Ásiisii [The Crank], a master of socio-politics and a scholar of post-armageddon infernal philosophies ~ a mad man.
"Urrh… you see, Lord Doraz, it's all a carefully planned indoctrination—seemingly superimposed." Simeon of Ásiisii relished big words, and he made sure everyone knew it. He continued "so, up until Lucifer's return from the Pit of Sodom, the crushing defeat and post-war aftermath of the great battle seemed Bearable?" Simeon remained relentless, gesturing wildly as his words tumbled out, hammering his point home. He glared at Doraz, eyes wild and a maniacal grin splitting his face as they rode further—expecting a reply, but his unblinking stare pressing for an admission. Doraz seemed overwhelmed by Simeon, by his conspiracies, and by anything the pale-skin cornifer says.
Bhashmur, on the other hand, had taken a flicker of interest in Simeon's last statement. He turned back, watching Simeon who was body-turned toward Doraz. Simeon's unkempt hair and peculiar Sahelian attire—a thobe and a long striped scarf tied around his neck—only added to the spectacle. Yet, the thought still drew a quiet smirk to Bhashmur's face. The Vulkan Slayer—they called him, usually quiet, introverted, and never one for idle conversation.
Simeon turned back to continue his rants, but then a sudden halt. This confused him. After all, his battlefield was never more than a courtroom. "We approach the slopes! The village is one stare away" the scout reported to the commander. Hurthur questioned "The Wind?" and the Scout replied "Easier". "Tethered the dragons" Hurthur dismissed him, raising his right hand high without looking at the massive crowd behind him, held up two fingers, then clenched his fist. Everyone saluted and began to settle around the area. Such uniformity left Simeon in complete awe.
Now, The Village Chief had been summoned before Hurthur.
Tabas Gbolahan stood unshakable amid the soldiers pressing in around him. A half-sized demon with a pride not suitable for an Imp.[2] Tabas carried a stubbornness and unwavering moral code that had, perhaps miraculously, kept Nottüash standing.
Nottüash was a small, rural settlement clinging to the sloppy terrain at the edge of the valleys, where the rocky belt of the Northern Hell States began. Its troubles were not merely famine on the half-barren plateau, nor the dwindling fresh water, nor the whispered threats of bandits among the farmers. Nottüash faced a far graver problem: beneath its starving soil lay a massive bed of igneous matter. In plain terms, there was mineral Ash[3]. And history has it wherever there's Ash, there's a flag.
Tabas loathed the Flags, despising not only their presence but the suffocating bureaucracy they demanded. High-demons either have a blade on your neck or a contract on your desk, sometimes both.
He shrugged with quiet pride, preparing to send them away as he always did. This time, however, the commander—new, unfamiliar, lingered at the valley's edge, staring down at the village with a patience that tested Tabas' temper.
At last, the commander sighed and began his approach. Hands clasped behind his back, his steps measured and deliberate, he exuded cold authority.
"So… you are Tabas" he said with a chuckle. "Do you know me?"
Tabas replied without hesitation, "I have lived happier without caring."
One eyebrow arched. The soldiers surrounding Tabas drew their swords instinctively, but the commander silenced them with a single, commanding finger.
Hurthur paused, looming above him. Tabas turned his face away, refusing to meet those eyes. Cold, unyielding, and terrifyingly calm, Hurthur's stare alone was enough to unnerve most High-demons. [There's a Closed-door saying that goes; If there's anything worse than a Low-demon who Lives like High-demons, is one who Acts like them.]
"Do you not fear the dragons circling above your village? Or have you mistaken them for mere wyverns?" Hurthur's voice was sharp, hammering through the valley.
The old, stubborn Tabas showed complete nonchalance in the face of Hurthur's threats. He gave a mocking sneer. His reaction began to rattle the usually cold demeanor of Hurthur.
"Do you not fear House Gorethi? Mhh? Do you mock our supremacy? Do you disregard our authority—our dominus?" he demanded, pacing in measured circles.
"You challenge our wrath—you challenge, m..my wrath" he concluded with a cold, deliberate stare, his eyes locking onto Tabas with unmistakable disappointment.
Tabas remained unflinching. He may not have been a scholar, but the Law granted him jurisdiction—no law but the Luciferian Law [4]applied here. He would not yield. Everyone knows it, the poor and rich alike, even the scholar standing behind the scene– might not be a master in geopolitics, but he must have studied enough to know that nothing could happen…
Then the world erupted behind Tabas:
KRRRAAAWWWW—RRRSSSSHHH—BLLLLAAARRRGGHHH—FSSSSHHHH—KRAAAKKK!
Fire erupted like rivers of molten sun, wings blotted out the sky, and its bellow cleaved the air itself. Trees splintered, rocks shattered, and the ground trembled under the fury of the savage beasts.
Tabas froze. He dared not look, yet curiosity forced his gaze toward Hurthur, whose eyes remained fixed on the village. The black depths of his pupils flared red, reflecting the inferno behind him. Slowly, Tabas turned, and his heart seized.
The Village of Nottüash had become nothing but complete ash.
A choking cloud of ash and flame replaced the homes, the fields, the very lives of its people. In that instant, the village that had endured famine, bandits, and drought was erased.
Hurthur, the bane! the ashborn!, the Horrible! draws us back to the Vulkan-Nordish War[5] and the conditional surrender of the Nords in the Mediterranean Wilderness after the 5 years resistance. Hurthur accepts surrender, but not conditions. He made that clear as he slaughtered their entire clan, hanging each of them on spikes and burning them. As their screams filled the air; he sang–oh! Let the man burn,Gorethi![6]
Hurthur departed, leaving a choking cloud of ash in his wake. Kneeling amid the devastation, Tabas wept!
A shadow fell over him. Simeon of Ásiisii approached with his customary grace, every step deliberate, every movement calculated.
"Oh, Tabas," Simeon began, his voice smooth, cold, yet oddly cheerful. "What's done is done. Think of this as a chain-breaking freedom from the burdens that force you not to bow to House Gorethi's offers."
"You… evil… monsters!" Tabas spat through his grief. "The lives… the families… the children!"
Simon rolls his eyes "Please. It had to be done. Whether today or tomorrow, they would have perished. They are nothing—lowly-born, contributing nothing but envy and petty grievances. You cling to law as if it mattered, but law is not for the figs." He laughed, sharp and bitter. "As the saying goes in Paradise: even God despises the poor."
Tabas wailed, "Do you truly believe mineral ash is worth the lives of all those you've slain?"
Simeon laughed. "You think the lives—no, the future—of those f..figs… hold any value compared to ash?"
Tabas glared up at him, trembling, and Simeon closed the distance with unnerving swiftness. Leaning close, his smile was both intimate and predatory. "You will write to Pandemonium—His Dominus, Satanus Supreme. Inform him of the 'natural disaster' here and the swift, exemplary aid dispatched by House Gorethi. But alas, nature left no mercy. Such is hell".
He straightened, voice dripping with mockery. "You will also surrender all rights to this land and its territory to House Gorethi as you seek pilgrimage to Golgotha".
Simeon's gaze bore into Tabas, eyes wild and piercing, a boiling stare, this time; browbeating Submission.
"Ye..yes Dominus"
Simeon's hand brushed lightly over Tabas' lips in a delicate, almost teasing gesture. "Oh, please. I am no dominus. Just call me Simon."
The ever humble Simon of Ásiisii - The Crank,
A demon among demons: Once a prophet of caste extremism in Ashkerport's alleys. Once a statesman who publicly dismantled the First Luciferian Amendment on Cannibalism. Once a scholar—his book titled "Re‑Armageddon", banned in eighteen Hell States. Simeon wielded law and logic as weapons. Not to govern—but to commit malevolent, nefarious, and wicked acts. Simon! The complete embodiment of very dark ideologies, undisguised dubious agendas, and heinous transgressions. Each one—a carefully orchestrated stroke of his pure love for chaos, anarchy, and doom.
[1] House GORETHI - A Major Infernal Household with very long history dating back to the Purgatorian Era
[2] IMP - A Low-Demon Race. An imp is a small (4-5 ft) mischievous demon with pointed ears, tiny horns, usually Dark Grey Skin and a sly grin. They are usually Quick and cunning. Young Imps delights in pranks and minor magical tricks.
[3] ASH - Ash is the Basic, Vital and Fundamental Resources in Hell. It's uses ranges from Spices, to Wines, Medicine, and Essential Ingredient for most foods
[4] Luciferian Law - "The Ultimate law" A set of written Constitution in Hell. Introduced by Lucifer himself during the Unification of Hell.
[5] Vulkan-Nordish War. - A territorial dispute during the Unification times, between the Expanding Vulkan and the Indigenous Nords
[6] oh! Let the man burn,Gorethi! ~ The Anthem of House Gorethi of Vulkamor