A Demon Archmage in New York

[CCClover]

CHAPTER ONE: THE FALL OF THE BLACK PALACE
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It was the end of the world.

A lone figure in stark black robes hurried through a vast, empty hall. The walls soared up on either side of him, rising to a vaulted ceiling so high it was nearly hidden from view. They were carved from soulstone, carrying hues of mottled reds and dark grays that flowed into each other unceasingly, every now and then coalescing into faces twisted in agony. If you listened closely, you could almost hear them scream.

The figure stumbled as another explosion rocked through the hall, then picked himself up and cursed. It wasn't any ordinary curse. It was a curse so vile and terrible that for a moment the light in the hall dimmed and the faces in the walls fell silent. Malakar was inordinately proud of that curse. It could only be spoken once every hundred years, and he had just spent it. Of course, if there was any time to be doing that, it was now.

Might as well.

Malakar had never thought this day would come. The day when the forces of Heaven and the Heroes of Light breached the walls of the Black Palace. Well, alright, maybe that belief was always unfounded; he'd never really paid close attention to the whole 'World-Conquering' situation. That was the purview of the Most Great and Unholy Dread Lord of Darkness and King of Creation. All he'd known was that the meetings about how the war was going had begun to get a lot louder lately, and tended to end with one or more commanders being executed. Politics was for suckers, in Malakar's opinion.

"Not that the Great Dread Lord was a sucker," he quickly muttered under his breath.

As if in response, the soulstone walls shuddered under a massive blow, groaned, and then cracked apart. Malakar leapt back as a great hunk of the architecture slammed into the floor mere feet ahead of him, the liberated souls weeping and giving thanks as they dissipated into the air. A brilliant, burning light lanced down from the ceiling, quickly followed by an actual brilliant, burning lance that sank into the stone and hung there, quivering.

Angels.

Malakar flung himself prostrate onto the floor as three of them descended through the breach in the ceiling, beings of ethereal light so terrible that they could barely be looked at. "Spare me!" he cried, his face on the ground. "I am but a lowly servant!"

The angels hovered in the patch of light for a moment, their very movements sounding notes of sweet music. "Leave the poor wretch be," one said finally, with a voice like the clarion call of a trumpet. "Our mission is—"

"Wait," said another. The objecting angel was larger than the other two, from a higher choir; if Malakar squinted, he could just make out a somewhat human shape in gleaming golden armor beneath all that light. "Something is wrong here. This is no mere servant."

Malakar sighed. Well, he had tried. Disguises had never been his strong suit.

"You should have just moved on," he said, slowly rising to his feet. "You might have lived."

He raised his hands to the air and let the illusion drop. His true form surged forth like a tidal wave of darkness. For he was Malakar the Irredeemable, Malakar Blackheart, Malakar of the Void, the demonic archmage of the Great Dread Lord.

His face, which he had disguised as one of the lowly mortal slaves, cracked and shattered. A long mane of bright red hair burst out from his cowl like an eruption of chemical fire. Two large, golden horns curved upward above eyes that were like twin portals to some mad hell. Rending claws and talons carved furrows into the soulstone. A snout full of cruel needle-teeth grinned at the three angels, whose light guttered and failed in the face of the horror.

"Flames of Nihiloth devour you!" howled Malakar.

Red-black flames erupted from the angels' cores. They died with the screech of snapping lyre strings, with the notes of their music cut short. The angel that had spotted him managed to feebly swing its burning sword before it was burned away into drifting ash.

Malakar stared for a moment at the smears on the floor where the three angels had once stood.

"Idiots," he growled. He really hadn't wanted to do that. These three angels were no match for him, sure, but that burst of magic had certainly alerted others. All the Legions of Heaven were storming the Black Palace, along with all those mortal races which had rebelled against the Great Dread Lord, and all their heroes. But that wasn't all. The Seraphim were here today, and while Malakar probably could have handled most one-on-one, there was no way he was going to risk fighting so many at once.

Another explosion echoed from behind him, followed by what sounded like a chorus of voices shouting out in righteous anger. Down the far distance of the hallway, a light like that of the sun began to glow.

Time to go, Malakar thought.

His hooves clopped a steady beat on the soulstone as he fled. The captured souls within the walls groaned mournful accusations at him as he passed.

After all, he had put many of them there.

* * *
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The sounds of holy battle faded as Malakar descended downward, ever downward, into the labyrinthine guts of the Black Palace. Soulstone gave way to obsidian bedrock, formed by the lava flows of the volcano that the palace had been built upon. It had taken a whole lot of magic to build a palace on top of an active volcano, but the Dread Lord had insisted, and Malakar had taken on the project as a sort of challenge. He'd done the best he could, but they still required thousands of souls yearly for soulstone repairs; there was only so much his wards could do against the constant eruptions. Probably had something to do with why the mortal races were so eager to join up with the forces of Heaven.

Malakar hoped there would not be an eruption right now. Down here was where he kept his laboratories, the most thoroughly warded wing of the palace. The lava flows were a great source of energy, when they weren't flooding the hallways.

He was going to miss this place. He'd really had a good thing going with the Great Dread Lord. He'd made so many breakthroughs into the arcane, but more than that, this place had felt like home. Inasmuch as a Demon Lord could have a sense of fondness for anything, Malakar held affection for his laboratories and the many experiments there. The pens full of burrowing hellworms, being specially bred for pestilence and viciousness; the whistling brass engine that was the Soul Compressor, the wall covered with Blood-Runes of the Making Language…he wished he could take them all with him, but there was no time.

He sighed as he passed by the monstrous visages of mutated humans floating in his ether-tanks, lit by a comforting greenish glow. Not so long ago they had been tended by scores of promising young demonic students, each so full of innocent enthusiasm for twisting the mortal form. All dead now, or, if not, they'd be dead soon enough, all of them cut down by heavenly blades. So pointless! So much knowledge lost! Didn't the angels care about their fine, hard-won techniques for turning humans into monsters? Of course not. Heaven reveled in their ignorance. Philistines.

Malakar came to the most important part of the laboratory, where the walls glowed with dark enchantments and red-hot piping. Where despite the lava and the overheated machinery, the air grew deathly cold, and carried the faint whiff of something metallic yet sweet, something halfway between a field of flowers and a murder scene. The void research wing.

It was here that Malakar had embarked on his most ambitious project. For the Great Dread Lord had not been content with conquering merely one world. No, the Heart of Darkness had wanted to spread his rule to worlds beyond his own, and had turned to Malakar to provide them.

It had taken years, decades, and a whole lot of dead students, but Malakar had finally managed to discover the secrets to interdimensional travel, tearing through the void to other worlds. Now it would never be used for a conquering army. Instead, that research would save his life. Though it might not be much of a life once he stepped through the portal. All the worlds he had found so far were lifeless, nothing but barren fields of rock, not even with any air to breathe. Of course, Malakar could live in such an environment for quite some time with magic, and it would probably be a lot better than whatever Heaven was planning to do with him. But maybe, just maybe, he could take some time to calibrate the portal coordinates, find some place with life…

He rounded the corner and stopped. Before him lay the Portal-Caster, a raised dais of solid gold forged into the shape of countless grinning skulls, above which lay a wobbling, unsteady tear in the fabric of reality, a portal, its ragged edges glowing crimson, opening up into starry darkness.

The dais was mostly for show. It wasn't required for interdimensional travel; once you knew how to make a portal, it wasn't so expensive. Malakar was just fond of gold skulls. But it wasn't the thought of how he'd have to leave the dais behind or the sight of the portal that made him stop short.

Someone else was here before him.

"Carassiso!" he barked, loud enough for it to echo off the walls.

Carassiso leapt on her many long, spiked legs, high enough to nearly hit the ceiling, before landing and turning around with a clattering scuttle. "Malakar," she chittered, her mandibles dripping steaming venom. "I, uh…"

"What are you doing here?" Malakar snarled, stepping forward, his hooves tapping ominously.

"What are you doing here?" Carassiso hissed back.

"Oh, as if you don't know."

Carassiso the Damned, Witch of Blades, had been a talented…well, Malakar didn't want to call them a partner, but they had worked in the research wing as well. Mostly in the fields of shaping inanimate matter, but she had worked on interdimensional travel too.

She was also completely insufferable. Malakar had always done his best to avoid her. For some reason, she fancied herself a second-in-command in arcane research; sometimes she even behaved as though she outranked him. So often Malakar's joy in his research was spoiled by Carassiso, watching from the shadows with her many-lobed eyes, always ready with a snide comment. That much mana capacity risks blowing up the entire Palace, Malakar. You're going to get yourself and everyone in the research wing killed, Malakar.

A silver lining to the end of the world would be never having to see her again.

Carassiso circled around cautiously, her twin blade-claw arms raised in Malakar's direction. "Don't you have a battle to be at? Or did you run away?"

Malakar actually stopped and gawked at her. "Battle? You weren't at the battle at all! I actually fought, while you—you just came straight here, didn't you?"

"I was at the battle," Carassiso said quickly. "I'm just much more subtle than you are. I kill with silence and grace, while you just go stomping around blowing everything up! All your fancy fire magic barely killed anyone at all, while angels bled beneath me!"

"Oh, sure. With you on our side, it's a wonder we lost at all."

"But we did lose," Carassiso said. "There's no recourse. Only retreat."

"Out of my way." Malakar ducked around Carassiso's trembling arm-blades and pushed her aside. He stared, puzzled, at the portal's calibration system. It consisted of a sheet of ruby inscribed with fiery glowing runes beneath a crystal ball, through which one could view the world on the other side of the portal. Right now it displayed nothing but a blank field of blue. "What have you been doing with the portal-caster?" he demanded.

"Looking for…likely worlds."

"Well, congratulations. I see you've found a lively one."

Carassiso peered over his shoulder. "It's pointed at the sky, you idiot." She reached over and caressed the crystal with one of her thin, spindly limbs. The view of the crystal rotated, rotated, until finally a silver gleaming tower came into view.

Malakar gasped and leaned in until his snout was pressed up against the glass. "You found a world with life," he breathed. More silver towers, dizzyingly tall, came into view. There seemed to be no end to them. There were people there too, humans, dressed very strangely, and much else he did not understand. So many obnoxiously colorful lights, and pictures of some vile brownish liquid hung everywhere. Were they worshiping sewage water? Whatever it was, it was life.

"How?" he asked.

"I just must have a touch for it. It didn't take me very long."

Malakar straightened and stared at the spider-demon. "You've known about this for a while, haven't you," he said. "You've just been hiding it."

"Maybe," Carassiso said coyly.

"Well, alright." Malakar waved a claw, and the image on the crystal disappeared. "I'll take this world. You find someplace else."

"What! Why should you get this world to yourself?!"

"Because I don't want to share it with you. Go to a different one."

"No! That's the only one with life I found!" Carassiso drew herself up, the sharp points of her many-jointed legs striking sparks against the soulstone. "How dare you! If anything, I should get this world to myself, and you can go live on some barren rock! That would be fair!"

"Life's not fair," said Malakar. "I'm taking this portal and sealing it behind me. Goodbye, Carassiso. You should try finding a different world quickly. Don't let Heaven carve your guts out, that would be a real shame."

"Don't you do it!" Carassiso hissed as Malakar stepped towards the portal. "Don't! Don't you dare! Ahhhhh!"

Malakar was standing at the top of the dais when Carassiso leapt at him, her arm-blades snapping, mandibles straining for his flesh. They grappled at the edge of the portal, the death-numb cold of the void pulling at them both.

A jagged blade-claw freed itself from Malakar's grip and plunged into his back; black blood pattered on the ground. He howled and snapped it in half, pulling it out, and plunged it into Carassiso's chest. She screeched as foaming yellowish ichor arced through the air.

Malakar snapped at her remaining limbs, blood dripping from his teeth. "Let me go!" he roared.

"You'll have to kill me to keep me from that portal!"

"I don't have time to kill you!"

"No," said a very calm voice, "You don't."

That voice stopped them in their tracks. It was simple, uncomplicated, but it carried such strength and command that all movement, all sound ceased. It was a terribly unnatural silence, like watching a tossing sea suddenly turn to placid glass.

A glow filled the room. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, as though the walls and stone itself had begun emitting a gentle white light.

There, in the doorway, stood one of the Seraphim.

Six ethereal, translucent wings of rainbow hue flapped gently on an unseen breeze, brushing against the walls; two more wrapped around their body like a cloak. Pure white hair drifted as though on water around a perfect, smiling face. To say that its skin was unblemished would be entirely inadequate. The Seraphim's face radiated such beatific purity that Malakar and Carassiso both nearly threw up right there. Its eyes were closed, long golden lashes resting on its cheeks.

In the center of its forehead was a third eye that seethed with raging light.

This was not just any Seraphim. This was Uriel, one of the most powerful warriors in Heaven.

"Oh shit," Malakar and Carassiso said together.

A hum, a thunderclap, and a spear of light manifested in one of Uriel's six graceful hands.

"The time for all demons is at an end," he intoned, and it seemed as though the very air sang in agreement.

Malakar and Carassiso tried desperately to extricate themselves from each other, but being demons with lots of hooked and barbed bits they were stuck. Malakar shouted the words of spells that summoned soul-annihilating waves of energy from the hearts of dead stars. Carassiso screamed and blades of stone tore themselves from the floor and hurtled towards the angel. Uriel smiled and waved a hand and they were gone.

"Any last words?" the Seraphim asked, hefting his spear.

"Wait, wait—yes—shit—Carassiso stop stepping on my hoof—" Malakar desperately backed up closer to the portal.

"I don't want to die!" Carassiso wailed.

"So said many of your victims," said Uriel, and hurled his spear.

Malakar, at the last moment, leapt for the portal, dragging Carassiso along. He no longer cared to try to shake her off. He simply wanted to live.

The spear took Carassiso through the abdomen first, then pierced his side and came out through his back, right beneath his armpit. It felt like white-hot fire was running through his veins, like solid light was eating him from the inside, burning out all the dark and secret places within that a Demon Lord tends to accrue over the centuries, all the little knots of hatred and cruelty and disease.

Malakar howled, only barely aware that he was now falling through the void beyond the portal. He looked up. Somewhere above him Uriel stood in that tear in space, still on the other side, in his old world.

Close it. Close it. You're probably dead anyway, but don't let him come after you and finish the job.

Malakar reached for his magic, but it was like trying to lift a mountain. Something was clamping down on him, cutting off his connection to all his unholy powers. Carassiso was silent, her legs dangling behind her as they plummeted. Probably dead.

With the last of his strength, Malakar sent a screaming orb of flame flying back towards the portal. Uriel easily sidestepped it, but then, he hadn't been aiming at the Seraphim. The orb expanded quickly into an enormous explosion, sending a wall of flame gouting into the void before the portal twisted, fluttered like a curtain in the wind, and finally winked out of existence.

Malakar had no hope that it had killed Uriel. But now, at least, the angel would not be able to follow him. Not that it mattered.

The pain finally overtook him, and Malakar slouched down into unconsciousness, tumbling, tumbling through the inky black of the void.

* * *
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For what seemed like an eternity, Malakar felt that he was suspended in blackness, broken only by the distant light of an unforgiving sun, searing him, cooking him to the bone…

And then, abruptly, it was over.

Malakar awoke to a gentle misting of what he hoped was rain across his face. He groaned and sat up. Far too many colors at once stabbed into his eyes. He shook his head and slowly they came into focus, until at last he could see that he had awoken beneath some sort of strange sign, one lined with glowing arcane spheres.

It read:

HAL'S GOLD AND PAWN

WE BUY GOLD • PHONES • WATCHES

CASH PAID TODAY, NO QUESTIONS ASKED

"THE MOST HONEST MAN IN NEW YORK CITY"

NO REFUNDS
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